


Intruded

by Minky-way (Cardgamesonmotorcycles)



Series: Intravenous [2]
Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Death Threat, Drug Use, Emetophobia, Friends With Benefits, Fuckbuddies, Injury, M/M, Murder, Rimming, Self-Harm, Suicide Threats, Vomiting, Yakuza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 93,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5507084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cardgamesonmotorcycles/pseuds/Minky-way
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was a terrible idea,  but he'd always found they were the ones with the best rewards, and damn was this reward worth it</p><p>--------<br/>Otherwise known as: Wound deepens, or the one with all the fucking</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He wasn’t really sure what made their agreement so… Enticing, maybe it was purely because with Mizuki he actually got to cum, whereas the average street trash that paid for his company couldn’t care less if he got to finish too. But then maybe it was just because it was Mizuki, disgustingly attached as that made him sound and he really wasn’t, that kept him going back, because he and the Rib leader had some kind of rapport, some friendly banter that continued around them fucking the shit out of each other. It was kinda nice to be able to turn up and chill first, to have a little bit of a lead up to it instead of being offered a price, agreeing almost no matter how low it was, then disappearing into an alley to get the job done as furtively and sloppy and rushed as it always was.

He of course enjoyed the free stuff he got out of it too, mainly in the form of alcohol and cigarettes, though Mizuki was always willing to offer the use of his shower or an opportunity to raid his fridge, though they both spoke of too much attachment and he hated charity. If he needed food he’d break in and take it, and the fact it might have been offered earlier that day didn’t change the fact that now it was definitely stealing so he was fine with it.

Nor did he allow any kind of intimacy, other than the sex act itself which he’d never really counted as all that intimate anyway, but any attempts at soft touches or kisses that weren’t hard enough and he was quick to flip the tables in his favour. He wasn’t there to be treated nicely, he was there to be used as the bartender saw fit, to get his orgasm, or multiple because shit Mizuki was good, then to leave. He didn’t want any of his consideration and irritating kindness, only taking his cigarettes because they were getting harder to steal and the tattooist made it all too easy to take them, though he knew he left them lying about deliberately now, it didn’t stop him.

He wasn’t somebody who accepted charity, no, he took what he wanted, he wanted Mizuki so he used him, got what he wanted from him then fucked off as soon as possible, accepting a cigarette if it was offered or ignoring the things that suddenly appeared in his bag, and escaping back to his warehouse and his drugs. It was a good arrangement, and he liked it, the bartender was good company, he’d listen to his stories about the assholes he’d met on his way over, or the drug deal gone bad where he’d had to fight his way out. Nobody else would even acknowledge his presence except with glares and curses, but Mizuki at least wouldn’t comment when he suddenly appeared at his door or in the closed bar, not questioning how he got in but greeting him with a grin, a rapidly poured double or triple of vodka, and a cigarette pack pushed his way.

It was the perfect arrangement, when he wanted a good fucking, and he meant really damn good, all he had to do was cross town and break into either his bar or his apartment, and by now they’d fucked in both, and Mizuki would get the message. They’d never fucked in his bed though, Sly considered that off limits, because that spoke of something more than just people who fucked with no attachment, no, his bed was too much real for him, too much of a normal place, and nothing about this was normal.

But other than that life continued as normal, he went about stealing food and getting beaten up, then going to clubs as it got dark, finding some clients to take to back alleys and taking their yen willingly. Then he’d go into the dark of Grime, the most notoriously unpleasant nightclub on the island, find his usual dealer and buy whatever he could, sometimes he’d stay and maybe somebody would pay to fuck him in a toilet cubicle, sometimes not. He’d take whatever he’d been given before he even left, crouched on a cracked toilet lid under the flickering lights and swallowing pills or wrapping elastic, his makeshift tourniquet, around his arm before emptying the needle of whatever the fuck it was into his skin.

He’d wait for it to hit, listening with dulled amusement to the couple who were obviously fucking next door, or to the sound of somebody throwing up, hearing it splatter on the floor and grinning because really, some people couldn’t hold their drink and it was a little pathetic. But then the buzz would kick in and he’d feel like air, light and untouchable, leaving the club and either looking for a fight that he probably wouldn’t win, or heading straight back to his warehouse at a leisurely pace to sit on his mattress and just feel alive for a little while. Sinking onto the damp, cold material with bruised, aching ribs and every inch of him thrumming with electric energy, poking at the bruises on his skin or biting at his lip until the cut opened and blood flooded his mouth.

But then sometimes he’d break his routine and intrude on the bartender instead, knowing by now when he worked and when he didn’t, and what time he finished, knowing that if he turned up at around three am he’d only have to wait a few minutes before the bartender arrived. At first he’d thought that maybe this wouldn’t work, that he’d turn up one day and he’d say no, he didn’t want to, or his moral compass would start working again and he’d say they couldn’t do it anymore, it wasn’t right. But a couple of months had passed by now, weather beginning to get warmer and he had yet to say no once, sure he’d turned up a couple of times and waited only for him to not show, but those times he just stole what he wanted and left.

So as long as things continued like this he could deal with it, there were only three things that could go wrong, and one was so inconceivable he didn’t even consider it a possibility, but he supposed the world was fucked up enough that it could happen. In order of probability, it ran thus, the bartender could develop a conscience and say they couldn’t do this anymore, in which case Sly would go back to his old life and everything would be fine. The next option made him laugh, but knowing how bizarre a person the bartender was, it could well happen, and that was that he could start getting feelings for Sly, if that happened he’d never be able to see him again or even break in for things, so that was the worst result of this whole thing. Then the third he didn’t even want to consider, because he didn’t have feelings, but he supposed it was the tiniest bit possible that he could develop some sort of fucked up attachment to the bartender, not love, because he didn’t know what that was let alone how to feel it. But there was a faint chance that he might grow fond, and even the word made bile rise in his throat, of the one person who accepted him as he was, but as long as that didn’t happen, everything would be fine and life would be a little bit more bearable.

Unless the bartender fell in love with him, of course, but he was unlovable, so that wouldn’t happen either, he seemed safe enough for now.

 

* * *

 

When Sly first came back Mizuki was angry, because he’d turned up at the most inopportune time, right when it suited him and nobody else he had dropped back into his life and begun to screw thing sup. But another part of him was a little relieved, because rumours and hearsay were one thing, but to actually see him, the same as always, damaged and cold, a little thinner, was somehow reassuring and the worry that had nagged in the back of his mind for months could be silenced for a little while.

But then he’d given in to grief and guilt and let the distraction of pale skin and those enticing yellow eyes and that electric blue hair drag him down somewhere he’d never have even considered going before and before he knew it he’d had sex with him. He tried to tell himself that it was okay, he must be eighteen by now, he had only been sixteen when they met, a mere child, but so much time had passed by in a blurry haze of loss and loneliness and confusion that he must be at least seventeen now.

He’d tried to work it out once, because they’d met first when he broke in, then they spent most of that year in their odd relationship where they exchanged banter and good, though that was a strong word, company for free alcohol and cigarettes and the occasional place to crash. Then Yasu had died and that marked the end of an at least eleven month period, Sly had been… Well, whatever happened to Sly had been fairly soon after that, about April or maybe March if he remembered rightly. Then he had disappeared until the anniversary of Yasu’s death in January, so that was at least another ten months, so the initial eleven, then the three before he was attacked or raped or whatever, then the ten months he’d been away for, meant he had to be eighteen now.

Not that it made him feel much better about using him like this, but the fact that he wanted it too, and God did Mizuki want it now, he might have hidden it before but some deep, dark part of him loved being in so much control of another human being. It made him feel a little sick sometimes, how easily he could get Sly to do whatever he wanted, how simple it was so order him around, to get whatever he wanted out of him then to drop him again like he was just a body to him instead of a person with thoughts and feelings.

But that was the problem, he didn’t have any feelings now, he didn’t know what had happened in the period between the attack on him and his sudden, abrupt and initially unwanted reappearance back into his life, but he was colder and harder than ever before. He was still a little more human around Mizuki, with twitches of his lip in more than just smirks and eyes almost a little warm sometimes, actually laughing once or twice and entire face lighting up, but he wasn’t the way he used to be. Mizuki had the feeling that if what had happened once already were to happen again, he wouldn’t even bat an eyelid, just brushing it off like it never happened and not daring to seek the comfort he had before.

He still thought about that sometimes, never when he was actually with Sly, but sometimes he lay in bed at night and remembered how childlike he’d been, how suddenly protective he’d felt over him, how he just wanted to make things better again. Remembered the cold, dead look behind those yellow eyes that always raged with barely concealed fire, it made him shiver and he tried not to think on it too much, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. The Sly he knew then and the one he knew now were different, and he’d love to say it was just time and growing older than had changed him, but he knew it wasn’t. Whatever had happened to him, and he still didn’t know if the rape rumours were true or just another way to lower his already shitty reputation, had forced him roughly, bodily into a cold, closed off sort of adulthood he shouldn’t have reached so early, should never have reached.

He wondered often, more than he should, if this was a terrible idea and he should just cut Sly out of his life and fuck random people like everybody else did, because he had never wanted them to become the fuck buddies they were now. Never wanted his own personal booty call who showed up whenever he wanted fucking, not after what had happened with Tio, still seeing hurt in his eyes every time he came downstairs with marks on his neck or scratches on his back.

But it would be fine, their arrangement couldn’t change anything, because there was no way he’d ever fall in love with Sly, sure he was fascinating, a person nothing like another he’d ever met, but he was hard and rough and biting, and Mizuki knew he could never fall for somebody like that. So for now, he was safe.

 

* * *

 

The second time he came back he tried to say no, that it had been a one-time thing and that now he’d got his fuck he should be happy, tried to be strong and morally sound and responsible. But then they’d gotten drunk, really drunk, and he should have known from the start how it would end, because Sly kept touching him, a hand on his arm, leaning over him for a little too long when he poured a new drink and it was like the way normal people flirted, subtle and enticing. Then the bottle was gone and Sly’s hand was on his knee and sliding up to his thigh and his nerves had turned electric in the heat of the room and the next thing he knew he was in his lap again and ah _shit_. Then his lips were on a neck and clothes were coming off and Sly was panting against his ear, scrambling for the lube and preparing himself too fast before he sank down onto Mizuki and groaned into his ear and he’d lost the battle before it even begun.

His head felt hazy but Sly was firm and hot and so goddamned alive under his fingers that once again he found himself not caring who he was, or that he had a shitty personality, or that he was just using him for this, he just didn’t care. Nobody had ever fucked him like this, not male or female, one night stands or actual partners, nobody had ever been this free and uncaring about wanting this, so desperate to get what they needed that they didn’t even fully undress, his own jeans still pooled round his ankles.

He was so good at this, at everything, back rippling fluidly as he fucked himself off Mizuki’s dick like it was all he’d ever known, taking complete control this time and sweat beginning to gleam on his forehead as his skinny arms lifted him up again and again. He was so deep inside him and he was fucking onto him so fast that the bartender could barely catch his breath, grabbing handfuls of fleshy ass to help lift him up because now they’d started he’d lost all his morals and he just wanted this. The pleasure swarmed through his blood, building like fire til his breathing was just choked off moans and curses and ‘fuck, Sly.’ Something in him loved seeing him like this, so uncontrolled and dirty and desperate for him, felt so dominant and controlling and powerful somehow, it was a sensation like he owned him, owned every inch of him.

Sly was just so slutty like this, and he wondered if maybe that was what made men take him to alleys and do whatever it was they did, did they love the enthusiasm, faked or otherwise, as he knelt and took them into his mouth. Did they love the way he seemed to want it that their girlfriends just didn’t, or did they just like that it was anonymous and they could do anything to him without repercussions, could do things with him their girlfriends would never allow?

He didn’t know, all he knew now was the weight of him on his lap, the slide of his tight ass on and off his dick and the curve of his back, skin so soft and firm but squeezing between the harsh grip of his fingers as they grabbed at his slim hips. His breathing was getting erratic and he didn’t know if it was the alcohol or just how long it had been since he’d gotten any action like this, but he felt like he was going to cum already. Sly had moved forwards, arms wrapped hard around his neck instead of just on his shoulders like before, bartenders arms tight around him and legs beginning to shake as he tried to keep up his pace which was growing erratic.

This time when he came it was less of a scream and more like a whimper and  _shit_ that sound was ingrained into Mizuki’s brain, feel of warm fluid splattering his chest and Sly’s continued, messy movements making his stomach twist. Fucking into him and watching his hair bounce as he whimpered because it must be beginning to hurt him where he was so sensitive, whining and moaning his name, low and slutty into his ear and, “Sly,  _fuck_ ,” and he came suddenly, hard inside him, holding his hips down so he could fill him to the brim.

Panting hard and swallowing against the dryness of his throat, releasing his vice grip on his sides and noticing the red marks his fingers had left, thinking how hot it was to be able to do something like that without complaints. Sly was just so much more of a whore than he was used to and he’d never seen the appeal before but now he understood, having somebody be so incredibly involved, so dirty and needy and seductive was enough to make any man do stupid things.

But already he was coming back down and he could feel Sly’s chest heaving on his own and the cum drying unpleasantly on his chest and the way he was soaked with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead and feeling like such a fucking mess but so satisfied at the same time. It was like this was what he’d been missing, the one escape he’d been searching for to be able to deal with everything, more effective than working out and a damn lot more rewarding, to be close to somebody without any expectations or feelings was everything he’d wanted and Sly was so perfect for it.

“Jesus Sly, you’re so fucking….” He didn’t even know what word he was looking for, crazy? Uncontrolled? Hot? But he managed a half laugh of disbelief, giving the boy still astride him an approving glance, fingers tracing over the scratches he’d made on his back, coming away a little bloody but knowing the other wouldn’t give a single fuck.

“And to think you tried to say no,” he was panting, giving himself a  moment to catch his breath, still buried in Mizuki’s shoulder before moving away, smirk resplendent and lips parted as he panted, looking so pleased and so wrecked that Mizuki knew this was the start of something terrible.

“I won’t next time.”

“You sure about that?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he raised himself off Mizuki, biting his lip and letting out the tiniest, breathiest whimper as he slipped free and cooling cum trickled down his thighs, Mizuki’s eyes trailing it silently. “Though I do enjoy convincing you.”

“Is that so?” He questioned, watching the smooth curve of his damaged back as he wiped himself clean roughly and began yanking his clothes on over sweat soaked skin, knowing that offering the use of his shower would only end badly and he didn’t much want to break this moment where things were almost calm between them.

“Mm, it’s just so easy,” his smirk wasn’t nasty like it was sometimes, it was a little warmer, amused if anything, watching as he pushed his fringe back off his forehead, reaching for a tissue and staring at his muscles contracting as he wiped his stomach clean. Finding his headphones last and putting them around his neck, fingering the new bruises there a little thoughtfully, lighting a cigarette and throwing the remains of the pack, Mizuki’s own, over to him.

It was a bit of a cliché, sharing a post-coital cigarette, but Mizuki didn’t mind, it was just what he needed now, inhaling smoke and watching it billow into the air to conceal Sly’s face but not those strong yellow eyes he knew would always burn through him. But there was no time to think how strange this all was, how relaxed and human Sly seemed to see in the moments after a fuck, before he drew away and turned a shade colder and was lost to him again. He was already at the door and Mizuki stood to let him out, yanking up his boxers and wriggling his feet out of his jeans, feeling a little foolish in only his pants and socks but not much caring.

“Same time next week?” Sly asked, but it wasn’t a question Mizuki could say no to, in fact both men knew that it was far more likely that they’d be seeing each other again before that, leaning against the doorframe with that enticing smile and those pretty, swollen pink lips.

“I’ll look forward to it,” and god would he, because ever since the first time he’d been unable to focus on anything, mind constantly thinking of pale skin and blue hair and harsh yellow eyes that stabbed into his chest and made his skin feel hot. Even now, with Sly there looking so damned appealing and so confident in the knowledge that the bartender wanted him, made him want to grab him by the neck and kiss him, hard, to drag him inside and fuck him again, to be the one in control again. But he held it in and just unlocked the door, focused on the tiny flicker of pink at Sly licked at his lips and the seductive smirk he aimed at him as he parted his mouth to speak again.

“Oh, Dry Juice, you’re going to be fun,” with that he was gone, sultry tone lingering in his mind long after he locked the door and stepped into the shower, hands travelling south without him noticing and realising how fucked he was as his cum swirled down the drain.

 

* * *

 

Sly had his fair share of disasters, but then of course he did, if there was one person Mizuki would associate with the word trouble, it was Sly, he just seemed to attract it, whether because of his cocky, often smug attitude or otherwise, he wasn’t sure, he just knew he got into dangerous situations far more than the average human. So if his face went from actually quite pretty to horribly destroyed and bruised beyond recognition in one week, Mizuki barely batted an eyelid, offering help bandaging wounds if it was accepted and telling him to be more careful, watching as he rolled his eyes like a moody teenager.

Sometimes he’d see him in the streets and be deeply alarmed by how he lived his life, just see a whip of blue flashing past and somehow know it was him as the streets crowds parted to let both him, and the group of three people chasing him. Hear the yelling and curses and cries for his blood and wonder what the fuck he’d done, caught him just after a beating once, been passing through a usually empty alley during a rather risky shortcut home and almost had a heart attack as he came staggering out of a side street. There was blood running down his face and he was limping, using the wall to drag himself forwards, moment of shock at seeing a familiar face too much as his wobbling legs gave up and he crashed to the ground with a groan.

It was just horrific to see him like this, beaten to such a horrific level, both eyes swelling and turning black and a deep cut on his forehead staining his blue locks a sticky brown with plasma.

He initially wanted to help, of course he did, but he could hear footsteps approaching and there was the look of a cornered wild animal in Sly’s eyes as he tried to drag himself upright, gritting his teeth hard against the pain and managing to prop himself up against the wall. Everything in him screamed that he wanted to run, body tense and yellow eyes flickering around, looking for an escape that Mizuki couldn’t give him while his attackers were still after him.

Then everything happened at once, Sly somehow gained the strength to swing himself up onto a rickety old iron fire escape ladder, scrambling to lie, seemingly semi-conscious, on the rusty iron grille just as his pursuers skidded into the alley. There were three of them, which pissed Mizuki off without them even being a damn sight bigger and more muscled than him, not that it was particularly difficult given Sly’s malnourished, underweight frame. But then his eyes narrowed and his face hardened because it was fucking Bug Bomb again and he was so sick of their bullshit by now that he was sure even had he hated Sly, he still wouldn’t have told them where he was.

They stopped the second they saw him, and of course they did, he still had his reputation after all, and stood there in his leather studs and with his arms crossed over his chest he’d be enough to make members of almost any other team on the island stop, even if just for a second.

“Ah, shit, it’s Mizuki!” He was whispering but not very well, voice carrying down the thin, metal pipe laden alleyway, each word crystal clear as panic set in and they began to look nervous, their idiotic conversation giving Mizuki enough time to realise that he recognised one of them. He’d tried to attack Sly before, a long while ago just after they met, he’d come across them on his rounds and scared them away after some amount of stupid arguments among them, apparently he’d tried to steal from a relatives shop, and Mizuki would bet almost anything that he’d been dumb enough to do the same thing again.

“Bug Bomb, right? What business do you have here?” He knew the answers to both questions, because he could see their grotesque, tasteless tattoo’s, inked luridly on their biceps for all to see, as if they might even be proud of them somehow. As for their business here? They’d obviously been pursuing Sly again and run into his teams territory as if they had any right at all to be there, and would no doubt pretend to him that they were somehow doing him a favour by being there, cleaning up for him, as they’d worded it last time.

There was some sudden commotion amongst their ranks, seemingly squabbling over who got the honour, or task, of speaking to the head of Dry Juice himself, the one he recognised being pushed to the front, his Mohawk still as stupid as ever where it rose in one, neon pink spike. He looked almost nervous and Mizuki had to hide his amusement, trying not to let his eyes flicker upwards to Sly as much as he wanted to check on him and ensure he was okay.

“We were looking for Sly Blue, he’s been stealing again.”

“Well it is in his nature,” he remarked, and if he was listening more closely he would have heard the derisive snort from just above him, Sly just clinging to consciousness and listening as well as he could with his blood thrumming in his ears and his fingers growing numb. “What did he take?”

They glanced amongst themselves, seemingly confused by his interest in this rather than him initially being on their size as he presumably should be, following the status quo on the Island and being as against Sly as everyone else was. But after a second and an unamused, expectantly raised eyebrow, Mohawk spoke, “cigarettes.”

“Hm,” he just nodded, not surprised but cursing Sly because he knew if he needed cigarettes Mizuki would be more than willing to give him them, in fact he was sure he’d stolen a packet from his apartment just the day before, presumably having smoked them all already. He stepped forwards and they held their ground, but only just, squishing closer together and the other two minions hiding behind Mohawk as if he could somehow protect them. His eyes narrowed as he got nearer, noticing blood on the knuckles of one of the background cronies and frowning, “you said you were looking for him?”

“Yeah, we just wanna get the stuff back, maybe rough him up a bit,” he spoke coarsely and Mizuki didn’t much like it, he was pretending to act tough to impress him, but it would take a hell of a lot for a Bug Bomb member to impress him.

“You’ve got blood on your hand, looks to me like you already found him,” his voice was cold, because punishing somebody for a crime was one thing, but to beat them to that extent, then let them escape only to track them down again with the intention of attacking them further, was cowardly. Just noticing now the slight redness and swelling around Mohawks cheek, wondering with a strange sense of pride if Sly had managed to get at least one good hit in before they overwhelmed him in both numbers and strength.

“Nah, that’s um… Hey Nobu, what was that again?” They were morons, all of them, and Mizuki wondered absently why he was even bothering with them, he should just send them on their way and get Sly to somewhere safer than where he was right now.

“Not his blood, somebody else’s.”

“Somebody else’s?” Not only was it a terribly obvious lie, but it didn’t exactly make them seem like the best kind of people, because now they were implying there were two people they had beaten up, or were at least planning to, and he knew his expression was disbelieving because he didn’t like being bullshitted, especially not by scum like Bug Bomb. “Okay whatever. You’re on my turf though, and I don’t like people on my turf when they don’t have a right to be there. Or do you want to challenge us?”

They paled immediately and he knew that with one more comment they’d flee in the direction they’d come and maybe not trouble them for a week or two, until they regained whatever bizarre confidence they had that made them think they could do whatever they wanted with no repercussions.

“Aha, no Mizuki, we were just trying to set things right, you know,” he was appealing to his good side now, and although he had one, and a significant one too, it wasn’t having any effect on him simply because it was pure horse shit and he was getting bored of listening to people grovel to him. “He’s a thug, we can’t just let him get away with it.”

“Hm, true.” He paused, pretending to be considering this, then he pointed a thumb in the opposite direction to his bar, sudden movement making them flinch and him struggle to hide a grin, because these guys were idiots through and through and he had to admit they were a little entertaining. “Saw him going that way, looked in bad shape. If you’re quick you might get to finish him off.”

He was joking, of course he was, because asshole or not Sly didn’t deserve to be beaten to death, hell, nobody did, and especially not at the hands of Bug Bomb of all people. But they managed to look excited and bloodthirsty all at once and he had to quietly remind himself that good teams with good people did exist, Dry Juice being the prime example of that, with Beni Shigure just behind.

As he anticipated they didn’t stick around much longer at that, one of them having the audacity to clap him on the shoulder as he ran off, thanking him as if they were friends, leaving him feeling a little queasy as he brushed off the patch where he’d touched him. Watching until they disappeared and their echoing footsteps were all but gone to finally look up at the walkway where Sly’s unmoving body lay, feeling a little queasy as he noticed there was blood dripping down through the grille to form a small puddle on the uneven concrete below.

He took another cursory look around, then when he was sure the coast was clear he jumped up onto the ladder, feeling it creak and squeak unhappily under his weight, climbing onto the fire escape easily and being very glad that all these buildings were abandoned. He shook his shoulder first, blue head just lolling floppily before returning to its original position, seemingly out cold, frowning as he saw him closer up and wondered what on earth he’d been doing to get this way.

His skin was pale and sallow and he almost looked sickly, lips horribly dry and cracked more than three times, with thick layers of white skin trying to peel off and small scabs at each corner of the pink skin. His hair was matted with blood and completely filthy, dirt and blood and grease thick in the lank, dull blue shade that looked dead as opposed to its usual electric shade. The bruises forming on both his eye and high up on his cheekbone did nothing to hide the huge black bags under both his eyes and the sunken nature of the yellow orbs, hidden by pale lids, his whole frame seeming somehow skinnier even though Mizuki had seen it naked not even two weeks ago.

He just sighed through his nose, shaking his head as he leaned in closer to check for a pulse, noting the red finger marks that circled his throat and hating Bug Bomb just a little more as his fingers brushed over them and he felt the steady thud of his blood circulating. Just unconscious then, as he’d through, biting his lip absently as he wondered what to do, because leaving him here was out of the question, but so was carrying him home, because a single glimpse of that blue hair and somebody would start asking questions he couldn’t answer.

“Fucking hell, Sly, you don’t half get yourself into some shit…” It wasn’t meant to be heard, but as he turned to survey the alley again, a wet chuckle met his ears and he spun his head round so hard his neck clicked, taking in half lidded yellow eyes, raised head swaying slightly and noticing how dizzy he looked.

“Here’s my Prince Charming,” he managed to mutter, then his expression grew troubled and he passed out again, head hitting the grate heavily and making Mizuki wince, because he really did not understand the meaning of self-preservation at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr@ minky-way


	2. Chapter 2

Prince charming he might be, but Sly was certainly no princess trapped in a high tower, although Mizuki had to admit that he certainly had the hair for it, too much of it in fact, it kept escaping from the hat he’d shoved it into, blue strands whipping in the wind and far too tell-tale. He knew that without a doubt if he saw somebody he knew his cover would be blown immediately and he’d lose everything he’d worked so hard to build, all because of the suicidal bastard who lay still and cold in his arms.

His plan wasn’t the best and he knew that, nor was it the most elaborate, consisting solely of wrapping him up in his own jacket and shoving a hat on his head to cover up the hair that gave his identity away even at a distance. Bundling his worryingly light load into his arms and taking a stupidly long route home just so he could avoid the most densely populated areas, because any guy from his team would enquire as to his cargo’s identity and one look at his face would solidify it for them. Tio would be the worst yet somehow the best, because he suspected something already, had done for a while in fact, so he might be more understanding of why he was carrying Sly’s unconscious body through the streets so cautiously. But then he’d also be the one who would have the most questions, who would have the same qualms Mizuki did, because he wasn’t overwhelmed with hatred for him like the rest of the island, he just found him a pest.

But the streets were quiet as night began to set in, shadows beginning to grow and people heading home from work no doubt having already reached warm houses and hot meals even as Mizuki could do nothing but worry and curse his load in equal measure.

He felt a little like a spy, or perhaps a shady drug dealer trying to make sure the coast was clear before emerging into the street outside the bar which his apartment rested above, lights still blazing where he had, as usual, forgotten to turn them off. Emerging from the alleyway only a little at first, just poking his head out tentatively and looking right and left, reassured that there was nobody around, not right now at least, and half jogging half walking his way over to the gate that led into the alley where he stored the bins. Unlocking it with his hands full of unconscious teenager was a little difficult, but he managed eventually after quite a lot of cursing and muttering darkly under his breath, locking it behind him and finally able to breathe clearly.

Now it was just the matter of climbing up the stairs that led first to the empty corridor outside his apartment, through another locked door, but this one was easier because he could take his time and not need to worry about Sly being spotted, he was almost inside now. Gently lowering Sly down to the ground outside his apartment because the lock had always been a little fiddly and he knew he’d probably have to do his usual trick of both jiggling the handle and shoulder barging the door to get the swelled wood to open.

But already he was beginning to stir, eyes open the tiniest amount and fingers twitching where they rested limply by his side, seemingly on the verge on being conscious and not yet fully awake, which was a bonus for the bartender. As he picked up Sly again and carried him across the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him, he wondered how he’d react to this if he was fully alert, he had the horrible idea he’d probably get at least a punch for it if not worse. Most definitely he’d get a mouthful of abuse and another reminder that he didn’t accept charity, as if he could ever forget that, undoubtedly offering no kind of gratitude for the fact that he had essentially saved his life.

Tio was right, his heart was too big, far too big, already packed full of love and warmth for his team, almost an overwhelming amount sometimes, and now Sly had begun to creep in at the edges, this fragile, fascinating teenager that so worried and excited him at the same time. It was at moments like this that he most questioned himself for allowing their relationship to continue along as it had, because surely events like this should just remind him why it was dangerous to associate with Sly. But then it wasn’t the danger that enticed him, it was Sly himself, he was an enigma and Mizuki was determined to crack his hard shell, he was cold and warm and hard all at the same time and few other people could manage that much. But there was little he could do now, he’d let Sly have what he wanted and now he’d started to enjoy it too, to look forward to it in his own sick, twisted kind of way, he didn’t much want it to end.

He looked so small lying on his couch, skin so white against the red material; and absolutely no colour in his cheeks, lips faded to a bluish-white colour that made Mizuki frown because it wasn’t all that cold outside and he had definitely lost weight since he saw him last. He was almost annoyed in himself at how concerned he was for him, because he shouldn’t have to worry like this, should never have needed to carry his fuckbuddy home because he’d had the shit kicked out of him. Standing in the kitchen and wondering what to do, to apply an ice-pack to the growing swelling of his eye or whether to warm him up first, to undress him and work out what it was that was dripping blood apart from his head and see what was wrong with his ankle. He knew that no matter what he did Sly would complain, say he didn’t need looking after or babying although they both knew that couldn’t be farther from the truth, because if anybody on the island needed looking after it was Sly Blue.

But then a long, drawn out groan met his ears and he ducked out of the kitchen remarkably fast, not entirely surprised when he saw Sly struggling to sit up despite having been out cold literally seconds ago, wondering how he could be so stupidly stubborn even now. Walking over with a frown on his face and pushing him back down, albeit trying to be gentle since he must be bruised as hell and remarkably sore too, moving was the last thing he should be doing.

“Lie down would you? Fucking hell,” he knew he should probably be nicer, but then he thought again and realised that Sly wouldn’t appreciate that much, thinking that being rough and maybe even a little pissed off would somehow put him at ease. “What did you do this time?”

He opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a croak, glaring at himself and trying again with minimal effect, voice croaky and raspy from where handprints still lingered on his slim throat, turning to bruises already. “Stole something, didn’t run fast enough.”

He just rolled his eyes, grabbing the first aid kit out of his desk drawer and sitting down in front of him, “and what were you stealing?”

Instead of answering with words like any normal person would, instead he reached into the pocket of his jacket, looking confused for a moment as to why there was another layer of clothing on him but working it out fast and scowling. Removing the most crumpled packet of cigarettes Mizuki had ever seen and trying to wave them in the air with furiously shaking fingers, arm losing strength fast and just falling onto his chest which rose and fell slowly.

Maybe he was trying to save his voice, or perhaps he just wanted to get his point across more succinctly, not stopping the bartender when he reached for the packet, opening it and watching in amusement as the entire top piece of cardboard broke off, removing the white tubes carefully. "Half of these are broken,” he remarked, counting at least seven that were snapped or on the verge of being so, useless to most people though he was sure Sly would smoke them even without their filters. “And didn’t you steal a pack of mine yesterday?”

“Smoked ‘em all,” and if Mizuki didn’t know why his voice was so mangled he’d think the cigarettes were to blame, because he sounded like forty a day smoker right now, voice hollow and rasping against his throat, eyes crinkling in pain as his swollen vocal chords strained.

“Course you did,” he rolled his eyes again, opening the first aid kit and glancing through its supplies, he was most worried about the cut on his head, it looked pretty deep and though it had stopped bleeding now the streaks of brown down his face weren’t too reassuring. “You get into some fucking trouble, huh? Now stay still, shut the fuck up and let me clean you up, you’re a mess.”

The attempt at a chuckle just made him cough, effort of it making his whole frame shake and Mizuki couldn’t help but wonder whether he was deliberately aiming to die young, but he supposed if that was true he wouldn’t have bothered running from Bug Bomb. Once it had subsided, and it took a while for his breathing to become anything but a dull wheeze, Mizuki began the seemingly arduous task of cleaning and dressing his many wounds, starting with the one on his forehead. It was pretty deep as he’d anticipated, but not very long and he wondered what had caused it, a knife? Because if so slashing or indeed stabbing at his face seemed a little ridiculously over the top for just one stolen packet of cigarettes, deciding he’d ask after he was done, distracting Sly was a sure fire way to ensure he never got to finish bandaging him.

He wiped it clean with a cotton pad covered in sterile saline solution, pouring it out of a small bottle he knew he’d soon have to replace if things like this kept happening, trying to ignore the way he attempted to hide his pain in scowls and grunts rather than just admitting he was hurt.

“They did a job on you, huh?” He wasn’t really expecting an answer, nor did he get one, leaning in slightly closer to see if it needed any stitches and deeming it to be okay, wondering how to go about bandaging it and eventually deciding on a gauze pad secured with strips of medical tape. It looked remarkably stupid but it did the job and that was all that mattered, as for the rest of his face there was little he could do, blood already carefully cleaned away and his eye and cheekbone already turning black and purple, too late to ice them now. As for his lips, and they looked painfully stretched every time he spoke, all he could really recommend was lip balm, and he hardly thought Sly was the type to use anything like that, seemingly uncaring that he looked like a famine victim more than a normal human. “What d’you think would have happened if they caught you?”

“Would’ve killed me,” he didn’t sound at all bothered, just easing himself upright despite Mizuki’s protestations and reaching for one of the intact cigarettes on the coffee table, finding a lighter in his jeans pocket and igniting it, ignoring Mizuki’s rather loud sigh of exasperation. He most certainly had a death wish, but the bartenders eyes narrowed as he shoved the lighter roughly back into his pocket and a flash of pain shot across his face, too obvious to be ignored.

“You were limping before, what’s wrong with your leg?”

He didn’t expect him to answer with the truth, so when his face hardened and his shoulders stiffened he immediately ignored his response, “Nothing, landed funny on it is all.”

“Bullshit, show me,” he didn’t leave him any opportunity to argue, but of course this was Sly and he’d never do anything without being nearly forced, so when he growled and shoved his cigarette between his lips moodily, he really didn’t expect him to unbuckle his jeans so easily.

The smell hit him first and he recoiled instinctively, eyes widening because he knew that smell and he already felt a little sick even before he leaned in and was just glad the smell of smoke masked it a little. The wound wasn’t very big, more like a sizeable graze than anything, but of course a fair bit deeper, like the top few layers of skin had been torn off in a messy chunk, right thigh marred by it. He didn’t know how new it was, but it had to be relatively new because it sure as hell hadn’t been there two weeks ago, but then maybe this was why Sly hadn’t been around for such a long time, he’d gotten hurt and been recovering, or hiding because he couldn’t deal with Mizuki’s scolding.

“Holy shit, Sly…” He whispered, trying to ignore the smell of rotten flesh, because it was infected and there was no doubt about that, leaning in a little closer so he could see small beads of green pus surrounding the edge. It had an almost shiny quality about it, where it had bled until it could bleed no more, then plasma had oozed out and been allowed to set there, crusted brown flakes around the edge showing he’d made no attempt to even clean it. “When did this happen?”

“Couple weeks ago,” he shrugged as it was no big deal, but the skin round it was red and hot to the touch and he flinched hard, sucking in a noisy breath when Mizuki tentatively pressed down at one edge, more disgustingly gungy fluid coming to the surface and making him fight back the urge to retch.

“It’s infected.”

“I know that.”

He was infuriating, and he’d already known that, but he was even more irritating now, because how on earth had he pulled his jeans on over this, fabric wet where he glanced down at it, let alone been walking around with it like this? Even now with Mizuki gently pressing at the edges, feeling it’s unpleasant heat and trying to be careful, his face was deathly white and he was breathing noisily through his nose, not doing a good job of hiding how much agony he must be in with an injury as tender as this. There was an unpleasant yellowish tinge to it and Mizuki didn’t even know how to begin with this, because he needed to drain it of pus but that would be agony for Sly, not to mention that he most definitely needed antibiotics, if he wasn’t careful he could end up with gangrene then he’d most likely die, no doctor would help him after all.

“Ugh… This is really bad, Sly. You realise that right?”

He shrugged and if he wasn’t already in terrible condition Mizuki swore he would have hit him, it was hard to hold back even with the knowledge that another good whack might end him, just dragging on his cigarette and not caring as ash fell horribly close to his wound.

“I need to clean this but it’s going to hurt, a lot.”

“I can handle it,” he remarked calmly, and Mizuki decided just to take his word for it, because he was certain he was just bragging so as to not seem weak, he knew the second he began to squeeze out the pus he’d wish he hadn’t been so cocky.

“Fine, have it your way,” he sighed grumpily, because he wasn’t looking forward to this either, taking an extra precaution and cleaning his hands again with the antibacterial liquid and grabbing a dry gauze pad. Wincing even though he wasn’t going to be the one in pain and pressing down gently but firmly at one side of the wound, not even surprised when Sly gasped in pain and all but whined, clenching his teeth together hard and cigarette completely forgotten. Swiping away yellow-green fluid and folding the cloth in half, pressing down a little more to make sure he’d got it all and trying to not let Sly’s gasps and hard breaths get to him as he continued round each side.

When he was done Sly’s mouth was open and he was all but panting, fingers wound hard into the front of his shirt and horribly white, almost looking light headed, “sorry, that’s the worst of it over now. You okay?”

“Just hurry the fuck up and get it done,” as he expected, no gratitude whatsoever, blinking hard and pupils blown huge with pain, watching as he ditched the, frankly disgusting, cotton pad and got another, covering it in the sterile solution and holding it to the side of the wound, squirting the solution straight from the bottle onto the wound to flush it out. He grunted and turned his head away and for a brief moment Mizuki thought he was going to faint like he had once, a long time ago when he’d been stitching him up. But he was okay, a quick glance upwards showing him taking a shaky drag of the cigarette and trying to ignore the bartender as he got another pad and began wiping it across the wound, dragging motion making his head swim and his fingertips tingle because over everything else he felt horribly queasy.

“That’s it, I just need to bandage it now,” his voice seemed to be coming from a very long way away, or even underwater, strained and distant as he just managed a nod and took the final drag of his cigarette, trying to pretend he didn’t feel as unpleasantly out of it as he did.

Whether he blacked out or just lost focus he didn’t know, but the next moment he registered there was a glass of water pressed into his hand and four round, white tablets, glancing down with a frown because his leg was neatly bandaged in white cloth now.

“What is it?”

“Painkillers.”

“I’m not in pain,” stubborn to a fault, that was how Mizuki would describe Sly, too proud and stupid to admit when he needed help or was suffering, just trying to hand the pills back and being ignored as the bartender packed up the first aid kit.

“You’re white and shaking, take the fucking pills.”

There was a moment where he just stared at him and Mizuki stared back, face hard because he wasn’t going to listen to any shit from him after he’d just gone to all this trouble to look after him, the least he could do was take them and start looking after himself at least a little.

“You really got a thing for bossing me around, huh?” He asked, familiar smirk coming back onto his destroyed lips, Mizuki wondering silently how he could go from being so pretty to like this in days and thinking that there had to be something wrong with him, because he still looked kinda hot even like this. But still he rolled his eyes and swallowed the pills in one mouthful, finishing the rest of the glass almost greedily, dry lips seemingly as parched as the rest of him, trying to place it on the coffee table but fingers faltering and nearly dropping it instead.

“When did you last eat?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Maybe I don’t want my fuckbuddy dead,” that wasn’t the reason and he was sure Sly knew it too, fuckbuddy or not, he was concerned about the other, he was so reckless and stupid that he had no choice but to be.

“Few days ago,” he relented, shrugging, once again, like it was no big deal, Mizuki raising his eyes heavenward and wondering just what kind of cruel god had dumped him with Sly, because at times like this he wasn’t even sure the sex made up for how infuriating he was.

“Food’s in the kitchen, grab whatever, I don’t give a fuck,” he was tired and frustrated and he couldn’t be bothered with Sly’s childish refusal to look after himself, just watching as he stood, thankfully a damn sight less shakily than before, pulling his disgustingly dirty jeans up over his neatly bandaged thigh and walking into his kitchen, admittedly picking up his cigarettes first.

Now Mizuki was alone he could finally heave an exasperated sigh, wondering if it was just years of bad treatment and street loving that had made him so resilient or if he was just made tough enough to handle the most horrific of situations and injuries. Lighting a cigarette of his own and glancing down at the mess of Sly’s stolen box, wondering if he considered his pathetic winnings worth the beating he had received, then a thought coming to him a second later and jaw tightening.

“You stole cigarettes over food?” He called into the kitchen, only registering now how unnervingly silent his guest was being and walking in to see just what he was doing, seeing him leaning against his counters with his eyes pressed shut and frowning for only  a second. The moment he became aware Mizuki was there he straightened up and was strong and cold again, showing no sign of pain or weakness and instead managing a smug smirk and a shrug of his shoulders. “What can I say, I’d rat-“

What he’d rather do, Mizuki never did find out, because a rap on the front door broke through his words and silenced both of them remarkably effectively, Mizuki’s heart stopping in his chest for a moment then resuming beating twice as fast as it should. He just stood there for a little too long, frozen in panic because how was he meant to answer the fucking door with Sly Blue in his kitchen? Whoever it was knocked again, a polite, triple-rap against the wood, seemingly whatever they wanted was urgent enough that they had the patience to wait, which meant it could only be a Dry Juice member and that could be disastrous.

“You gunna answer that?” Sly asked, taking another drag of his cigarette and raising one blue eyebrow, hair stuck together in bloody clumps that brushed his forehead and bandage unpleasantly, looking too battered for words but somehow almost soft in the kitchens blue tinged light.

He snapped back to reality at his words, raising a warning finger towards him and tone stern, almost like a teacher might be with a particularly irritating student, “stay in here and for fucks sakes be quiet.”

He just rolled his eyes, pretty yellow teasing and not entirely reassuring, but then neither were his words, “I wouldn’t dare.”

His eyes narrowed and he knew that revealing himself was the exact sort of thing Sly would do, he was an asshole through and through and Mizuki didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him, although that would probably be a significant distance.

“Scouts honour,” he remarked, raising his empty hand in a mangled attempt at a salute and just smirking widely, lip tearing open and red blood trickling down his chin fast, as Mizuki just rolled his eyes, wishing his kitchen had a door he could shut.

But he had no choice but to answer because he could hear keys jangling and that could mean only one thing.

“Oh, Tio, hey,” he was able to fake his surprise remarkably well, though he was still more than a little alarmed when he answered the door and saw his right hand man stood there with a friendly grin, raising a hand in greeting.

“Hey, um, I did message you but I didn’t get a reply. I was just wondering if I left my hoodie here the other night?” His tone was warm as ever but Mizuki could tell there was something wrong with his expression, because his blue eyes narrowed a little, crinkles appearing at the corner as his smile faltered.

“Oh, um, yeah you did yeah. Just give me a second and I’ll grab it,” the only issue with it being Tio as opposed to any other Dry Juice member was that he’d be more than willing to invite himself in and close the front door behind him, lingering in his living room and glancing around causally. He hoped the nervousness in his voice wasn’t obvious, nor the speed with which he headed to his room to grab said jacket, having folded it and put it atop his chest of drawers, hoping he’d see it one morning and remember, though thus far that plan had failed.

“You hurt yourself or something?” He asked just as Mizuki re-entered the room, jacket in hand, only mild concern in his voice as he nodded towards the first aid kit, neatly re-packed but still surrounded by bloody cotton pads and looking significantly worrying to say the least.

“Oh, um, yeah just caught myself on some metal pipe earlier, ripped right through my jeans. I should have looked where I was going,” the lie came easily and he wasn’t sure that he liked that because he didn’t usually lie to Tio, painfully aware of the intruder who was still in his kitchen.

“Sounds nasty,” he sucked in a sympathetic breath through his teeth and Mizuki was glad he’d believed him, though he supposed that he had no reason not to. He wished he had some legitimate excuse to make him leave, but he didn’t and there was no way to hurry him out without it seeming suspicious, because normally Tio would have just let himself in and grabbed it himself, that had probably been his plan right up to the moment when Mizuki answered. “Um, are you cooking by any chance?”

His forehead creased in confusion, sniffing the air as if trying to find the scent that must have led Tio to believe that, chuckling in a little amusement, because his apartment didn’t smell of much, not to him anyway, raising a confused eyebrow and shaking his head, “um, no.”

“There’s smoke coming out of your kitchen,” he looked mildly concerned for a moment, then his face broke into a suggestive grin and he crossed his arms with amusement. “Or do you have company?”

He was cheering internally, because this was his excuse, the perfect excuse, if Tio thought he had somebody over for less than friendly reasons he’d be sure to leave the minute he handed over his jacket, which he had yet to do, still holding it abnormally tight in his hand. But then what if he wasn’t implying that the guest was some kind of sex thing and he thought it was just a friend, what if he wanted to meet them?

“No, I must not have put my cigarette out properly, I don’t have anyone over. Just me,” his lies were painfully obvious and he could feel bile rising in his throat because he thought he might have gotten away with this thing with Sly for a little while longer at least, but it seemed he’d been rumbled. He was just glad he was being quiet, whatever he was doing, or he was until the fucking fridge slammed and he could have easily, willingly murdered him and saved Bug Bomb the job, squeezing his eyes shit and grimacing in annoyance as Tio just raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

Then there was blue in his eye-line and he prayed Tio wouldn’t be able to see but his face had already turned hard and confused and betrayed all at once and Mizuki was either going to throw up or murder Sly, or maybe both.

“I’m eating this,” he remarked, despite the fact that it was obvious, pizza box in his hand already opened and mouth full of the cold foodstuff, just glancing at Tio and eyes narrowing almost as if he recognised him from that time they’d met in the bar.

There was silence and he didn’t know what to do, stuck between the two of them and his face stuck in a silent scream of horror, eyes wider than they should be and skin feeling cold and clammy even as Tio just stared at his uninvited guest.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” His voice had hardened in seconds and for a moment Mizuki was afraid he might attack him, eyebrows furrowing as he turned and glared at Sly, who offered a wave and a smug grin.

“Oh, he broke in then passed out.” He tried to explain it away, as if that would work and Tio would just be like, ‘oh okay’, and leave, aware he was kidding himself even as he tried to distract his friend. “This is your hoodie right?”

“I… Um… Yeah.” He was taken aback, it was obvious, and of course he fucking was, he’d gone to see his friend, grab his jacket and maybe hang out for a little while, only to find Sly Blue, scum of Midorijima eating his food and looking quite comfortable if not a little beaten up. “Wait, what do you mean he broke in?”

“Climbed through the window, very bad security here,” Sly replied, mouthful of pizza not stopping him from speaking, just watching as a piece of ham flew out of his mouth onto the floor and shrugging, it wasn’t his house after all, he really didn’t have any fucks to give.

“Right…” Tio murmured, but it was obvious he was more than a little confused, turning to Mizuki with his mouth open before closing it again to sigh through his nose, “And you’re letting him eat your food because..?”

“He hasn’t eaten in a few days and it was leftover,” he explained, though he could feel nervous sweat breaking out on his forehead because this was not normal behaviour, Tio knew it, Sly knew it, and Mizuki knew it from the first minute he made his uninvited guest breakfast. “It’s no big deal, saves him stealing it, right?”

“Right, well. I mean… Er… What?” He had paused again, taking the hoodie Mizuki handed over but not really registering it, material almost sliding through his hands and catching it at the last minute, taking in Sly’s amused smirk and feeling remarkably irritated. “You… You do know who he is, right?”

“Can’t say I do, what was your name again?” He was joking, and Sly knew, mouth twitching into a smirk at one corner because this was very funny, and if he was going to get caught here, he’d at least like to see Mizuki crash and burn because of him, now that would be true entertainment.

“Sly Blue,” he responded, helping himself to another slice of pizza and watching the black eyebrow of Mizuki’s guest twitch unconsciously at how comfortable he seemed to be there, chilling in the entrance to his kitchen in all his hated glory, alternating between messily eating pizza and puffing on his cigarette, ash tumbling to the ground.

“Oh that’s right, I do know who he is after all,” he was almost offended at the fact that Tio would think he’d be stupid enough to let some random person into his house without even knowing their name, let alone anything about them, even if that was what had initially happened.

“Exactly! He’s Sly Blue, Mizuki! He’s…. I told you about him!” He paused, realisation dawning on his face as he sighed disbelievingly, face twisting into an expression of disappointment. “That’s why you asked me about him, you already knew who he was, didn’t you?”

“I might have done,” he responded, and both their voices had turned icy, he didn’t much like it. “Look, I got in, the door was open and he was passed out on the floor, what was I meant to do?”

“Kick him out?!” It was neither the nicest response, nor one he would have expected from Tio, but he understood that he was coming from a place of confusion, disgust and misapprehension resulting from the rumours that were flung around this island.

“Is that what you would have done?”

“Well, no but...” He was trying to defend himself now, knowing what he had said wasn’t exactly true or nice, frowning as he tried to work out how to explain his objections to this when he realised they were all based on rumours that might not even be true. “Mizuki!”

“Look, he hasn’t done any harm, he got beaten up by Bug Bomb and was looking for someplace to hide, ended up in here. I mean he shouldn’t have broken in but they would have killed him otherwise, you know they’re capable of it.” Tio’s face hardened the moment he mentioned Bug Bomb, because if Sly was the islands most hated person then they were definitely the most hated team, and Tio knew as well as Mizuki that they were ruthless and power hungry to a fault. It softened a little a second later as he looked across the room to where Sly stood calmly eating pizza, the first thing he’d eaten in days, clearly trying not to inhale it, box clutched to himself almost protectively and looking rather frail. It was like he was seeing him the way Mizuki did for the first time, as a lost teenager who’d had a shit start to life and didn’t really know how to do things properly, or how to look at himself. Just saw a young boy, covered in bruises and with blood caked hair he probably didn’t deserve, sighing quietly and shaking his head, hand on his jacket twitching a little, whether in annoyance or not, Mizuki wasn’t quite sure.

“I just felt a bit sorry for him, I guess,” he half expected Sly to object, because nobody liked being talked about even in front of their face, let alone being shown such blatant pity, even if it wasn’t entirely real. But as he’d expected, that was all it took for Tio to understand, because Mizuki had always been kind hearted to a fault, able to see the best in nearly everyone, and Tio got that, just nodding slowly, eyes scanning over Sly, who was polite enough to restrain his glare just a little.

He frowned again as he regarded his friend, eyes still swirling with distrust because it was like he knew Mizuki was hiding something, but then why would he be? “This is dangerous, Mizuki. You can’t do this again.”

He knew that, he’d known that from the first time he’d realised his reputation, the hatred everybody had for him and the trouble that followed him wherever he went, but somehow he didn’t want to stop either. So he just nodded and lied, and god he’d been doing that a lot lately and somewhere in his chest he knew he’d live to regret this, this lie and this kindness he was showing to him, or at least what the surface showed. Knowing that if Tio knew they’d been fucking he’d react a hell of a lot worse, Mizuki would lose all of his respect and probably lose him as a friend too, swallowing thickly against the truth that sat in his throat. He could sense eyes on him, vivid, burning yellow and blue as calm as the ocean but twice as choppy today, just managing a sheepish smile.

“I know, it’s just this once. Nobody deserves that bad a beating, y’know? He’s only a kid after all.”

It was good enough for now, but it wasn’t only the beating he didn’t deserve and he and Sly both knew the truth behind his lips, lingering there like a bad taste, saying that he didn’t deserve Tio’s defensiveness and suspicion, didn’t deserve anything he got. But then, when was life ever fair to the people who deserved it the most?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some beautiful soul drew me art based on the first in this series and it's beautiful and perfect you should go check it out and give them lots of love  
> http://cardboardchoochoo.tumblr.com/post/136017688540/inspired-by-a-fanfic-written-by-minky-way-u
> 
> Tumblr @ minky-way


	3. Chapter 3

It was another two weeks before Sly turned up again, an awkward two weeks of Tio shooting him strange looks very ten minutes and occasionally berating him on his kindness to the scum of the island. Of course Mizuki did the best he could to try and convince Tio that not only had it been a onetime thing (lies), and that Sly wasn’t even that bad when you spoke to him (true), but he still had the feeling he’d only won him over a little. 

But that wasn’t his big issue, his real problem was that Sly’s absence had lasted at least four weeks now if not longer, and he’d gone from twice weekly sex to suddenly having not had sex in nearly a month, as a result he was more than a little frustrated, masturbating could only do so much after all. It was, in the grand scheme of things, ridiculous how fast he’d gotten his libido back considering before he first fucked Sly it must have been at least six months since he’d had sex, and even that had been an awkward drunk one night stand that had left him feeling grubby for days. He knew their arrangement was basically totally on Sly’s terms and all he could do was wait for him to show up and hope he was healthy enough, an abstract term at most in his case, to fuck, but until then all he could really do was try and reduce his frustration in other ways.

Twice daily jogs and occasional midday workouts on top meant he flopped into bed exhausted every day, and the extra time spent with Tio on his morning run wasn’t exactly unpleasant, especially as the longer he spent with him, the more reassured he was that his friend wasn’t completely mad. Not only that but he could see the change in his body already, he’d never been out of shape, not for years and years, in fact he couldn’t remember being anything but the well-toned person he was now. But now any soft or squishy bits had been replaced with planes of hard muscles and the sleeves of some of his shirts were beginning to strain around his biceps where they had swollen and grown, members of his team commenting and female bar patrons all too keen to touch his guns and express their delight at how good he was looking. He smiled politely of course and lied about liking to keep in shape, laughing in his head as he wondered how they’d react to the real reason; that he was only like this to keep himself from going crazy with almost teenage, horny energy.

But still he expected Sly to turn up soon, he was never normally gone this long after all, though he supposed that after only about two months of their arrangement, during one of which he had been nearly entirely absent, he couldn’t really stand to judge his behaviour patterns just yet.

 

* * *

 

So it was another week of waking at 7am to Tio’s knock on the door, grabbing two sports drinks even as he yanked on clothes and headed out the door to go on a run, sometimes only a couple of miles but usually five or above, they tried to aim for seven but Tio wasn’t quite as fit as Mizuki so sometimes they had to cut it short. Then they parted and it was back home for a shower and to shove some food and a disgusting protein shake that claimed to be chocolate but really was not down his throat, then it was morning rounds of the island on foot, through all their alleyways and territories. Stopping trouble wherever he saw it and basically encouraging good relations between his team and the rest of the islands residence, sometimes dropping in on another team like Beni Shigure to make sure all was well and that their bonds were still strong. Tattoo and piercing appointments began at about 1.30, giving him time to grab some lunch, usually reheated rice from the day before or if not a pre-packed bento from the corner convenience store. 

Tio or one of the other bartenders would be back around five to start setting up for that night while he finished off his last jobs and, if there was time, managed to fit in another workout in his apartment or a run, weather permitting. The bar opened officially at six every night except Sundays and Tuesdays, but Mizuki usually didn’t start work til about seven or eight, using this time to actually cook some food of substance, shower again and basically unwind if only a little before the madness started again.

Then it was downstairs to a usually packed bar until midnight during the week and often as late as three on the weekends, juggling orders of drinks and talking to customers and making sure everything ran smoothly, maybe training up a new bartender or breaking up a potential fight. So it was no surprise that with how busy he was keeping himself he had little time to even think about Sly, let alone wonder where the fuck he had been as another month drew to a close and he still hadn’t seen him since he’d bandaged his injuries.

 

* * *

 

“You’re asleep at seven, how old are you?”

It was the tone he recognised first, mocking and patronising while all at once managing to be a little amused and, dare he say it, fond, groaning as he opened his eyes to discover that he had indeed fallen asleep on his couch and Sly was stood over him with a cigarette and a condescending smirk.

He just blinked the sleep out of his eyes and sat up, rubbing a hand down his face and trying to smooth his hair down, with probably little effect given how mad it always was when he’d slept on it, regarding his intruder with barely conscious irritation he had trouble summoning when he was this comfortable.

“Twenty two,” he knew Sly hadn’t really wanted an answer, which was exactly why he gave him one, registering his pissed off eye roll and just continuing to speak, easing himself upright and stretching out his tired limbs. “And some of us work.”

“Yeah in a bar, how difficult can that be?”

He decided not to rise to that challenge, because the last thing he wanted to do was to give Sly yet more details of his schedule so he could intrude more than he already did, just sighing exasperatedly and reaching for the box of his cigarettes, blaming his half-awake state at first when his hands missed them. A quick scan of the table and a look over at Sly’s raised eyebrow and he knew exactly what had happened, managing a derisive snort and holding his hand out to him, “cigarette.”

“No, please?” He asked as though they weren’t the bartenders to begin with, though he handed it over anyway and lit another of his own, ditching his burnt down end onto the coffee table, Mizuki trying to pretend it didn’t bother him as it continued to dully burn on the wooden surface. “No manners at all.”

“I’d say sorry, but I’m not,” he remarked, straightening up his vest where it had slid off to the side while he was sleeping, revealing almost all of his chest, though he had to admit that it didn’t cover a lot more when it was on properly. “You’re finally back then?”

“Obviously,” he snorted, face turning almost a little nasty, though Mizuki knew he’d never be on the receiving end of his actual fire, feeling thankful for that small blessing. “Awh, did you miss me?”

“Oh yeah, every single day,” his sarcasm was obvious and he was rewarded with one of Sly’s more genuine chuckles, rolling his eyes at the sheer ridiculousness that was the idea that somebody might miss his presence for so much as a second. “Been beaten up lately?”

This kind of banter between them was… Pleasant, to say the least, he rather enjoyed it and he had to admit that the subjects on which they spoke tended to be so ridiculous that they were amusing, though he did hope the answer was no, and his well-healed face was enough for him to believe that maybe he was right in his guess.

“Nah, I can outrun most people.”

“How reassuring,” he joked, standing from the sofa to stretch properly, falling asleep right after a workout was always a horrible idea and though he still wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep for, he knew if he didn’t stretch out his arms they’d cramp like a bitch later. Not to mention that Sly seemed to enjoy watching his newly grown muscles tense and relax as he stretched them out, regarding the half empty protein shake bottle on his table and wondering how he’d managed to not finish it. He gave it a cursory sniff before judging it to be okay and carrying it over to the sofa, judging correctly that Sly wasn’t exactly going to jump straight on his dick, so hopefully he’d have time to actually wake up before they got down to what it was he’d come for, or what he hoped he’d come for anyway.

He wasn’t entirely sure what it was that reminded him of the state Sly had been in last time he’d seen him, maybe it was just the familiar action of him replacing his lighter in his pocket, but suddenly the smell of pus came into his mind and he felt a little queasy. Trying to keep his voice casual as he asked, because Sly never liked knowing he was concerned about him, taking a cursory glug of his drink and wincing because it really was gross, “how’s your leg healed?”

Something in his eyes flickered a more vivid yellow and for a second Mizuki was alarmed he’d made the wrong decision in enquiring, even though he felt like he had more than a little right to be able to ask, since he’d been the one to bandage and clean it, a deeply unpleasant task he’d never wish to repeat. But then his smirk widened into something a little dirty and his stomach grew warm with anticipation, or maybe just lust, watching in silence as he unbuckled the belt that seemingly held his too-large jeans up, sliding them down to show a surprisingly clean white bandage. “Why don’t you tell me?”

He unwound it with remarkable ease and Mizuki could already tell that he was in far less pain than he had been last time, ignoring him dumping the white cloth onto the floor in favour of examining the mark on his thigh. Where it had been yellow and crusted with blood and other disgusting, vile smelling substances, it was dry and clean now, surface neatly scabbed over and well on its way to being fully healed, though of course it would take a while to disappear complete.

He was, in all honesty very surprised at how fast it had cleared up, especially since he hadn’t expected Sly to do much else to it after the bartender bandaged it, his reluctance to even take painkillers making him realise the true extent of his disregard for himself. “Whoa, it’s healed really well.” He leaned in a little closer to examine it, trying to work out the possibility of it having healed this well without other care, and deeming it low to impossible, especially with how infected and swollen it had been. There was only one other conclusion, “have you been cleaning and re-bandaging it?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, then took in Mizuki’s surprised expression and smirked. “You put the stuff in my bag, figured I may as well.”

That was a surprise too, because sure he used to sneak stuff into his bag sometimes when he could and it nearly always used to go unmentioned, but something like this he felt would go ignored in favour of more exciting gifts, like cigarettes. “What would you have done if I hadn’t? It’s not like you would have stolen them.”

Sly raised a blue eyebrow and he immediately registered the stupid naivety of his words, because this was Sly he was talking to, he’d probably literally steal candy from a baby were he to get the urge. “I totally would.”

He didn’t speak, just inclined his head to the side because now he thought about it, yes, of course he would, he wouldn’t even think twice about stealing medicines other people might need, but then it wasn’t entirely a selfish action since there was no way he could just make a regular doctor’s appointment and get them prescribed.

“How d’you think it healed so fast? I broke in and stole antibiotics.”

“You… You stole antibiotics?”

“Yeah,” he was, in all honesty, quite amazed that Mizuki was surprised, because surely he’d know by now that if it wasn’t nailed down, Sly would probably try and steal it even if he had no need or use for it, he just enjoyed using his five finger discount.

It was fair enough he supposed, that Sly would steal what he couldn’t get for himself through conventional means, and it was also possible that the bartenders concern had made him revaluate how bad his wound really was, driving him to try and fix things before it got too late. “How did you know what to get?” Whenever Mizuki went to the doctors, and it wasn’t often since they tended to unnerve him, he usually had no idea what drugs he was taking or what cream he was smearing onto his skin, the long medical names were too complicated for him and he just trusted in the medical professionals to ensure he got what he needed.

“Looked it up,” he shrugged, and for a moment Mizuki wondered how the fuck he had managed that, it wasn’t like he had a coil or access to the internet, not that he knew of anyway. “There was some drug manual thing there. Stole some other good shit too.”

“Do tell,” he remarked, rubbing green sleep gunk out of his eyes and relaxing back onto the sofa, finishing the last mouthful of his protein shake and noticing the others eyes watching the swallow of his Adams apple and the flex of his muscles as he puffed on his cigarette. It was a little flattering to have such focused attention on him, though he knew he was guilty of the same with Sly, there was some undeniably attractive characteristic about him that shone through even when his face was battered and bruised.

He grinned, pleased to have been given permission to show his wares, though he probably would have done even without the bartenders approval, going to yank his jeans back up before pausing, licking his bottom lip with a dark smirk that made Mizuki’s fingers twitch on his cigarette. “Is there any point in putting my jeans back on?”

Mizuki grinned at that, trying to pretend he couldn’t already feel warmth growing in his bones as the other just ditched the offending material instead, sliding heavily to the ground and slim legs on full show, fighting the urge to tilt his head and stare like a pervert, “probably not.”

“Only probably?” Mizuki rolled his eyes, about to respond when Sly held up a finger to shush him, and he of course obeyed, though knowing what he was about to say would probably be more than a little insulting. “Let me guess, you’ve been horribly frustrated without me here, wanking every night like a dirty old man?”

It was as insulting as he thought but he still laughed, because damn Sly had him down and it was, in all honesty, rather humorous to be compared to a dirty old man when he was only four years older than Sly. “Oh yes, most definitely. Sometimes I wonder how I managed before you barged your way into my life utterly uninvited.”

He snorted again at that, and it was an almost cute sound, nose crinkling up and eyes disbelieving yet still glinting with that red hot fire that always seemed to go straight to Mizuki’s head and make him lose all sense, or that was his excuse anyway. But already that gaze was off him, face returning to its usual impassive expression as he removed a rather worryingly large selection of blister-packed drugs from his jeans pockets, flipping them over to read the neat writing on the shiny side. “Xanax, Adderall, Percocet, Nembutal, Valium, Vicodin. I took some already, they’re pretty good.”

“Isn’t Xanax an antidepressant?” Mizuki asked, looking over at the neat packages and noticing some were missing with only mild concern, with the amount of illegal drugs Sly did, he supposed he should at least be glad he’d moved onto medically approved stuff now, even if he did have no idea of doses.

“I dunno, they get me fucked up and that’s all I care about.” He should have expected nothing less and Sly wondered absently just how naive the bartender was when it came to things like this, already looking wary of the drugs in his hand, and considering he’d taken MDMA before, admittedly without his knowledge, these really weren’t anything to be scared of. But then they were shoved back into his pocket, head tilted impishly to the side, and it was down to business, “so are we getting drunk or not?”

 

* * *

 

Whether the getting drunk was to reassure Sly or Mizuki, neither really knew, but the bartender knew he felt better about this whole thing if he could at least blame it on the strong alcohol coursing through his veins, even if the ¥7000 lost each time they did this was a mild concern. But for Sly it was basically the same thing, sober sex was something he did not do, not even with the bartender despite their friendship, if he could even call it that, sober sex spoke of attachment and some level of comfort with each other. While Mizuki never made him specifically uncomfortable, the being drunk rule was a little like the never fucking in his bed rule, they were both too familiar and too similar to being characteristics of a relationship rather than that of fuckbuddies. Because that was what they were, fuckbuddies, and even the buddies section of that was a little abstract, because they might get along and not hate each other’s company, but that didn’t mean they were friends by any long shot, Sly didn’t have friends.

But still, getting Mizuki drunk was a sure fire way to ensure he was out of himself enough that Sly could talk or encourage him into anything he wanted, which was always the same thing, but still, it was the principle that counted. The tattooist had an annoyingly large conscience that he actually seemed to listen to, a bizarre fact for Sly, who either had none or had quit listening to its whisperings a while ago, but when Mizuki got drunk his morals all but faded away, and that was perfect.

But still, the bottle had slipped down smoothly enough and if Sly had popped a couple of miscellaneous pills Mizuki hadn’t mentioned it, both feeling that familiar buzz in the back of their skulls as it began to hit. Empty bottle having fallen off the table a while ago and not been picked up by either of them, smoking too many cigarettes and almost waiting for one of them to act first, conversation trickling not unpleasantly down to a gradual end.

Sly had never bothered putting his jeans back on and for some reason that was a little amusing to Mizuki, sat there on his sofa with Sly in his boxers, it wasn’t exactly normal but then nothing about them was normal, Rib leader sat with a hated Rhymer and talking casually. Or they had been talking anyway, but the conversation had run as dry as the bottle and Mizuki could feel the alcohol heating him up as it ran through his veins, swallowing thickly as Sly licked his lips and leaned over to stub out his cigarette. His shirt rode up just a little, jacket ditched onto the floor along with his jeans just a little while ago, showing the slightest strip of pale back and the bumps of his spine, somehow pretty rather than disgusting.

But pretty was such an innocent word, it brought to mind girls in sun dresses with long hair and freckled cheeks, with sweet smiles and soft hands who rode bicycles with baskets on the front and laughed with dimpled cheeks. The word just didn’t make sense when you applied it to Sly, and that was the contradiction, because he was pretty, there was no doubt about it, and he did have the long hair after all, and if you looked closely enough, the faintest dusting of freckles too, almost blending into his face but there over the bridge of his nose and sweeping across his cheekbones. Maybe it was something in the shape of his face then, the almost feminine curve to it, the high, defined arch of his cheekbones and the point of his chin, or perhaps his eyes, so large and vivid that they just drew you in. He had long eyelashes too, almost like a girls, so maybe that was why, and his body too, slim if not sometimes a little too skinny, the pale skin was somehow linked to it too, even if it was marked and scarred when you looked closer. It was something about his legs too, they were just… Well Mizuki didn’t know how to begin to describe them, slim and almost hairless, smooth to the touch and so horribly delicate and almost velvety where they met in the middle that he struggled to keep his hands off them. They were definitely like a girls, in fact there was very little hard and tough about his actual body, he was a lot smaller than Mizuki in weight and muscle mass and he’d always been a sucker for that. Despite how in command he strived to seem in his everyday life, with Mizuki he was more than willing to relinquish control over to the bartender and god he loved that. Hovering over his smaller, lithe form and entrapping him in a cage of arms, bearing down on him and feeling him squirm under him, try to fight back only to give up and let Mizuki dominate him and to be so into it too.

But now not only had he lost track but he’d also been staring for far too long, trying to work out if it was just a sexual attraction he felt for the other, or if he was genuinely nice looking under the grime and scowls and somewhat bad attitude. But as usual all the important questions didn’t have answers that were easy to reach and he snapped out of it, glad to see he hadn’t been out of it long enough for it to be noticed, just rapidly ending the silence because he felt almost awkward sat here ogling Sly like this, even though he was fully aware the other wouldn’t mind, probably wouldn’t bat an eyelid if he just jumped him right now, and damn was that tempting. 

“Run out of things to say?” He tried to make his tone as teasing and his smirk as seductive as Sly’s but he knew even before he tried that he would fail, because nobody could be as charismatic and as intricate as Sly, he just didn’t have the wide range of expressions he did, and certainly none as dirty.

"You know what they say, talk is cheap,” his lips enunciated the end of ‘cheap’, forming a perfect circle, softer and a hell of a lot less flaky than they had been last time, almost pretty, and again that word, pretty, on his pale, currently unmarred face.

"Like you?” He began, then changed his tune because his drunken mind had come up with a startlingly accurate, and remarkably logical thought. “Although maybe not with your insistence on ¥7000 vodka.”

He smirked at that, seemingly rather amused and initial offence gone from his face easily, just smiling almost genuinely, smirk-like air to it almost always fading the moment he was with the bartender, and somehow it made him feel a little privileged to know he was the only one who saw him like this, who got to have him like this. “Is it not worth it for my company?”

“Hm, maybe not just for your company,” and it was always this moment here that got his skin heating up and his heart beating faster, this moment where it changed suddenly from friendly banter to straight up flirting, and not even just light-hearted either, the kind of seductive talk that led somewhere and fuck did he like where it led to. He was better like this, teasing and tantalising with his words and Mizuki was sure he consciously licked his lips more and made sure his hair was off his neck just so he could get the urge to kiss it or maybe sink his teeth in and leave marks on the white skin.

“Oh? Then what for?”

They both knew the answer, of course they did, but this brief moment of pretending was almost reassuring to Mizuki and so unique to them that he wouldn’t change it, like a last-ditch chance to change his mind and say that, no this was a terrible idea, which admittedly it was. It was a little too late to back out now though and they both knew that too, Sly’s smirk staying just as wide and enticing as ever as he waited for the bartender to make the first move.

And make the first move he did, seemingly catching him off guard as he grabbed him by the hips and pulled him closer, almost onto his lap, slight breathy gasp of surprise leaving his lips and the innocent, unintentional noise remarkably amusing to Mizuki, just regarding him as he rapidly regained his composure.

“I think you know what I mean.”

His smirk was so alluring up close, pink lips stretched wide and eyes almost burning like lava, skin warm under his broad fingertips and shuffling a little closer so he was pretty much straddling him again like he seemed to enjoy doing.  “Pretend I’m stupid,” he grinned, because he loved to see the bartender mildly flustered as he had to either explain what he was doing, or show him by starting them off in whatever method he saw fit, already well on the way to doing so.

“Won’t be difficult,” he murmured, but seemingly Sly had heard and he only had a brief second where he saw yellow eyes narrow in annoyance before he’d moved forwards and kissed him with more teeth than was really necessary, biting down on his bottom lip hard and muffling his objections with his own mouth, that smirk so pretty against his own.

He would almost have complained about it if it wasn’t for the fact that after the initial, rather aggressive, bite Sly had gone back to his normal self, which admittedly wasn’t particularly gentle but was a damn sight better than having his lip ripped off for a sarcastic comment. But hey, he wasn’t a picky man and Sly’s thighs were so soft already under his fingers, enjoying the easy access to them and thinking that he should just always arrive without jeans on, it saved a lot of messing about with belts and such. Sliding work-roughened palms up under the material to seek out more of the warm softness that he was so addicted to, arms around his neck and fingers almost pulling on his hair, lips messy and wet on his already, never any time wasted.

But he wasn’t sure he could have waited any longer, from the moment he first saw Sly stood over him with that smirk on those stupid, addictive lips he knew he’d almost die if he didn’t get to fuck him that night, and now he was so close and his mouth was so insistent and wet on his he was almost glad for the time he’d had to wait because it just meant this would be a lot more worth it.

He always got the feeling that Sly didn’t much like kissing, seeing it more as a way to get worked up and to get the bartender loosened up, more than as a necessary act before sex as Mizuki considered it, because having sex with somebody and not being able to kiss them would be bizarre and he knew he wouldn’t like it. So already he was sliding his fingers down his sides to urge him out of his stupidly small vest top and running blunt nails down his chest, just gasping against his mouth, and fuck that was really hot, as Mizuki grabbed handfuls of his ass and pulled him as close as he could get. 

This was what he really liked, the fact that with Sly he could do anything, he could be as rough as he liked and he’d probably fucking like it too, it wasn’t like having a boyfriend and having to ask permission before he so much as left a hickey. With Sly he could probably do the weirdest shit, and his mind was too occupied right now to go into detail about that, to him and he’d not only be incredibly up for it but would undoubtedly encourage him. He could be as wild as he wanted, he could grab him and throw him around without so much as a dirty look, he could call him disgusting and a whore and a million other horrible things and it would only get him turned on more. That freedom, the opportunity to be whatever, and whoever he wanted, that was what attracted him to Sly but somehow he only reached this epiphany in the moment the other’s hand was on his dick and he was jerking forwards into his body with a choked off moan, lost to Sly’s clever tongue.

 

* * *

 

He spent the next few hours, and it always was a few hours with Sly, never content on leaving until he got his fill and however many orgasms the bartender could give him, losing himself in Sly’s scarred skin and blue hair and those sinfully genuine moans. Alcohol going to his head almost as much as the warm skin under his fingertips, both equally intoxicating and sweat trickling down muscled skin to land on soft white, always going so hard and fast and Sly ever demanding, breath coming in pants and grunts and curses. Calling Sly a whore and watching as his eyes creased a little at the corners, flipping him over so he could only see the bones of his spine and the rounded curve of his ass, the only place on his body that really stored fat.

Ending collapsed and panting on his sofa, material wet with sweat and cum and probably drool too which was kinda gross but Mizuki didn’t much care, straining to catch his breath because they’d gone extra hard tonight and every inch of him hurt. Still wiping sweat off his head and pushing his soaked hair off his forehead as Sly redressed and let himself out as abruptly as he’d entered, drugs stashed back into his pockets and last of Mizuki’s cigarettes stolen, door slamming behind him and leaving Mizuki feeling strangely cold.

 

* * *

 

“That lover of yours is vicious, Mizuki, you need to put a leash on that or something.”

“Lover? What century are you from?” Somebody bantered back just as fast, giving Mizuki time to fake a laugh and yank his collar up a little higher though he knew it would have little to no effect on the almost brutal bruises up both sides of his neck. “A leash, huh? I’ll look into that,” he grinned widely and tried to ignore the pain in Tio’s eyes as he lifted up the crate of cans he’d been unpacking, regarding his amused team with a little uncertainty, thinking to himself that Sly would probably be into that and wincing internally because that was fucked up. “Now you’re meant to be doing rounds not grilling me, go on, beat up some thugs.”

They left fast enough, finishing their drinks just in time for him to be carrying the last crate down to the basement, hearing a final goodbye and yelling his response as he reached the bottom of the steps and was finally alone. Well, nearly alone, Tio had stayed behind to help him unpack the delivery as usual and he could hear footsteps and the occasional clank of bottles from the floor above him, taking a second to just lean back against the cold concrete wall and breathe.

He’d felt horribly on show up there and not for the first time, since he and Sly had started hooking up he noticed the eyes on him far more than ever before, feeling self-conscious every time somebody so much as glanced his way. He almost didn’t know what he was afraid of, not that they’d find out the gender of his fuckbuddy, because they all knew he wasn’t straight, though most figured he was bi which even he wasn’t certain of any more. No, he was worried they’d find out it was Sly and just not understand, or worse, not even try to, because at least Tio had tried to understand his kindness to him if nothing else, but he knew the others were just too closed minded to.

It wasn’t just that though, it was the way they talked about his mystery man, as Tio had nicknamed him, being the only one who definitely knew his gender, no, they called him a fuckbuddy and that was fine, a fling was okay too. But a lover was a new one and he didn’t quite know what to think of that, beginning to stack the crates in their corresponding piles unconsciously, not quite aware he was moving but knowing the pattern so well that he barely had to be awake for it, let alone actually concentrating. He had too much time to think, that was the issue, everything had become so monotonous for him, he mixed the same drinks every night and walked the same routes, tattooed the same skins and designs and pierced the same body parts over and over.

So here he was, in his basement in the middle of the day, thinking deeply over the semantics of the word ‘lover’ as if he was an English student instead of a bartender, trying to think up a definition of it and not having much luck. A lover surely just meant somebody you slept with, but then the word love was in there again and it seemed to be popping up all over the place these days, without him even looking for it, like it was seeking him out. He was so curious he eventually looked it up online, millions of results rushing in but going for the first one, because he never had been picky and that was half the problem. 

‘Lover (noun): a partner in a sexual or romantic relationship outside marriage.’

So that did make Sly his lover, but that just sounded so… So horribly wrong in his head, because it still had that stupid, pesky love word in it and that was completely not something that occurred between them or ever would, so he still didn’t like it. He just ran a hand down his face as he heard steps descending the stairs, because he was taking too long and he knew it, not quite managing to compose himself before Tio walked into the room.

“Mizuki?” His tone was soft and confused and Mizuki hated it already, because he didn’t deserve his worries or concerns, he shouldn’t be doing things that made people worried about him, that made him worried about himself. “Are you okay?”

He just faked a smile like he was getting so good at doing, standing up off the wall and miming a yawn, “I’m just tired, I slept like shit last night.”

“Got busy, did you?” It was meant to be a joke but his tone was a little too pointed and they both knew it, olive eyes narrowing because that had been petty even as ashamed blue glanced away.

“No actually,” he was trying to pretend that he hadn’t noticed, but he didn’t quite manage it either and his words were a little mocking, perhaps even a bit smug, gesturing for him to follow him back up the stairs, because he was as done with this basement as he was with their conversation. It was a lie anyway, but he had the feeling Tio knew that anyway, because those hickeys hadn’t been there the day before and they sure as hell looked fresh, not yet fading to subtle greens and yellows that blended into tan skin.

 

* * *

 

But the issue still remained that Tio knew something was wrong, and it was growing more obvious every day, because Sly wasn’t exactly the best person to give orders to when they weren’t about something he would benefit from, so no matter how many times he told him not to leave marks, he continued to. They were noticed by everyone and commented on more than once, and he could laugh them away the first couple of times, not dispelling rumours that he had a fuck buddy but not confirming them either. But then they were there permanently, replaced the moment they began to fade and damn him he didn’t have the strength to tell Sly to stop when he was doing them because they felt kinda good and he’d never figured himself for a masochist before.

He didn’t mind the team commenting so much, because they just found it a bit funny, asking if it was an actual girlfriend/boyfriend type person or just an arrangement he had with somebody, accepting it when he refused to answer solidly and just laughed them off. But it was Tio that hurt, because every time there were new marks, or particularly dark ones that covered half of his neck, sucked into the hollow of his throat or circling both sides because Sly was a sadistic little fucker, something in his eyes changed. He was colder towards him these days and Mizuki knew it killed him to know he’d been replaced, to see the bartender marked by somebody else and to know he’d moved on, his reluctance to explain who it was he felt worth of being his bed mate.

It made him feel bad every time Tio would greet him warmly only to see fresh marks and promptly, probably unconsciously, turn cold and distant from him, to see his best friend so alienated by this whole thing, but somehow he couldn’t stop.

But then one day he must have snapped, because he stopped being polite and just smiling along uncomfortably when the others tried to be nosey and pry into what he’d been doing and with who, and he asked himself.

 

* * *

 

“Mizuki,” his tone was cautious, questioning, and he turned, shirt still half over his head because Tio had seen it all before and he was super sweaty after their jog, the other having just changed shirt too after a quick towel down to remove the worst of the salty moisture.

“Yeah?” He asked, pulling the vest down and marvelling at just how low the neck fell, half his chest still exposed and wondering why on earth he had bought it, because sure it was okay looking but he felt like a bit of a prick every time he wore it.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he shrugged, heading to the kitchen and returning with two bottles of sports drink, throwing one to Tio who just played with the cap anxiously, Mizuki growing tense as he wondered it maybe this was to do with the scratches on his back and the bites down his neck. He swore Sly did it on purpose, every time he told him not to he seemed to disobey and leave even more traces of him behind, even trailing them down his chest, sometimes right to his hipbone and onto his thighs. He just didn’t have the willpower to stop him because he was alarmingly talented with teeth and tongue and now he’d surrendered himself to this, to letting himself take this dangerous, risky pleasure, he didn’t want to deny himself anything.

“Well, I was just wondering, um… Or rather the team’s been asking…” He knew instantly what Tio wanted to know, feeling himself stiffen a little, he knew Tio deserved to know the truth, but if he told him who it was he knew he’d lose him forever as well as the team if they found out too, and he couldn’t face that.

“Dude relax, just ask,” he tried to fake a casual expression, grin not quite wide or genuine enough as he clapped him on the shoulder in a manner that was too friendly and they both knew it.

“Is it a fuckbuddy or, did you actually meet someone?” He seemed to regret his words the minute he spoke them, pausing to frown because he had this horrible feeling that he really wished he hadn’t asked, because neither answer would soothe his frayed nerves. “I just… I mean you never really told anyone so… I thought maybe you just didn’t want everyone knowing.”

“Yeah, I um… I’d just rather not make a big thing of it,” that was an understatement and a half, if it had been left up to him nobody would have had any idea he was getting regular sex at all, but of course his uncontrollable pest of a fuckbuddy couldn’t possibly let him keep it a secret.

“Yeah I get that, I’m not going to tell anyone, it wouldn’t really be my place to.”

“No I know you wouldn’t. It’s just… Just a thing, you know? Um, just like an arrangement, it’s nothing serious, we’re just messing about.” Fuck buddies, no strings attached, booty call, friends with benefits, there were so many terms for it but he’d fucking gone with messing around? He knew the connotations of that were bad already, seeing Tio’s brow furrow just a little and his blue eyes dim, because Mizuki never wanted him to think they’d just been messing around when they’d been together, had their own arrangement, but that was how he’d made it sound and he regretted it immediately.

“Hm,” he nodded, not meeting his eyes or indeed looking in his direction at all, taking a sip of his drink and his hands were shaking just a little because he had been replaced and it stung deep in his chest to imagine somebody else where he used to be. “Nah I figured that much, I mean if it was serious you would have told me, right?”

“Yeah of course,” his response was empathic, because if he actually met somebody he liked Tio would be the first person to know, they were best friends and it was the least he deserved, because he’d never wanted to hurt him but everything he did these days seemed to make it worse.

“Is it anyone I know?”

“Nah, he’s um… You don’t know him,” and oh Jesus he had made it worse again because why had he told him it was a guy? For all he knew it could be some woman he was fucking about with, but now Tio knew he had been well and truly wiped out, replaced with some faceless man who Mizuki liked more, could have more fun with, who hadn’t fallen in love with him. “Um… I feel a bit shitty about it…”

But that was a lie, he didn’t feel bad, he didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty about any of it, only felt mildly inconvenienced at having upset Tio, because he’d told him all that time ago that he didn’t feel the same and surely he should be over it by now? Sly was more than happy with their agreement and so he knew he wasn’t taking advantage, if anything he was the one being used by the blue haired manipulator, but what they did didn’t feel wrong so why should he stop just because Tio didn’t like it?

“How come?” He looked genuinely confused and Mizuki absently wondered if maybe he had read this whole situation wrong, if maybe Tio was actually over him and was just nervous because it was quite a personal topic, maybe thought that he was overstepping his boundaries. But no, he knew Tio hated knowing he was with somebody else, had seen him glancing at the bites and scratches and occasional finger marks where Sly had really fucking held on, and seen his face crinkle with pain for the slightest second. Had seen blue eyes on him more than he’d ever noticed, every time he looked away it seemed like Tio was staring right at him, eyes burrowing through his back and making his spine prickle because it was almost unnerving and he wished he could have just felt the same.

He shrugged, managing a weak laugh and glugging down some of his drink, sweetened blueberry flavour distinctly unpleasant, only really enjoying the coldness of it and the sugar buzz he’d no doubt get later when he worked out again. Trying to think of why he felt bad about it, or unnerved more than anything, because he’d given in to Sly so easily, and on the anniversary of Yasu’s death? Or just because he knew this was hurting Tio in some way, “I dunno, it’s not really something I should be doing. I mean I’m meant to set an example for you guys, it’s not really very…. Appropriate behaviour.”

There was silence for a moment as Tio just stared at him, then he raised one eyebrow in disbelief and laughed, seemingly genuinely amused by his admittedly mainly fake, reasons for the discontent that sometimes swam in his stomach. “Oh relax, you’re always so worried about your reputation. You are allowed to have fun you know. Nobody cared when we did it,” he shrugged to end his sentence, expression suddenly the mirror opposite of Mizuki’s, his green eyes widening in surprise as Tio’s remained crinkled with amusement and fond exasperation.

“They knew?”

“Of course they did, they’re not stupid.” More of a snort than a laugh, a little derisive because it had been nearly four years ago now, when they were both eighteen and still stupid and naive and Dry Juice had just been getting attention.

He blinked, because that was news to him, as far as he was aware, the team thought him and Tio were just best friends and they had no idea they’d once had an arrangement of their own, but apparently they were more observant than he thought. He wasn’t sure how it made him feel, that they all knew what he and Tio had done, surely they had noticed how distant and apart they had been for a couple of months after, wondering if they knew what had happened or if they had made their own guesses.

“Oh.”

“Jesus, Mizuki, nobody cares much about what you do in your personal life, it’s not really anyone’s business,” he shrugged again, because unless Mizuki was caught doing something seriously questionable nobody could really care who he slept with, what gender they were or how many people he was bedding. “As long as it’s not a rival gang leader or somebody we all hate you can do whatever you want.”

He laughed at that, changing the subject easily enough and trying to hide the lingering fear in the back of his mind that came with Tio’s words, because if he tried to think of somebody universally hated by the team, Sly’s was the only name that came to mind. He was fucked, and he knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic series now has art which you can find here- http://cardboardchoochoo.tumblr.com/post/136017688540/inspired-by-a-fanfic-written-by-minky-way-u
> 
> Tumblr@ minky-way


	4. Chapter 4

Things continued more regularly after that, Sly showed up at his apartment two or sometimes even three nights a week, occasionally in good condition, but more often not, with black eyes and split lips Mizuki felt almost reluctant to kiss, though of course he always caved under that yellow stare and the almost hypnotizing voice that had implanted itself within his mind. Sometimes he'd find himself in the shower, crafting dirty, filthy sentences he'd never actually said in his voice, all too perfect and too much for him to be able to hold the desire to touch himself back, feeling increasingly like a horny teenager as he jerked off most days or actually got the real thing.

Sly seemed to have developed a liking for fucking in the bar, maybe because that was where the alcohol was, or maybe just because he liked the idea that he was invading Dry Juice's territory, desecrating their sacred ground even as he marked up Mizuki and he did the same. He almost thought somebody would add together his 'just fucked' appearance and Sly's similar state, would match up the hickeys on their necks that always arrived at the same time, but of course he was just being paranoid. Because after all, nobody would ever even dream that Mizuki, their esteemed and well respected leader would be going anywhere near Sly Blue, let alone having sex with him more regularly than some of them probably did with their actual partners.

But still, the thought of blue hair and yellow eyes seemed to almost be haunting him, like Sly was working his way under his skin like he'd invaded his life, not experiencing a single day where he didn't think about him, even if only in passing. But of course Sly hardly had a low profile and his various misdemeanours on the island were a constant talking point amongst both his team and the island other residents, even Beni-Shigure reporting having had trouble with him.

Sometimes he wondered how this had all begun even though he knew the answer already, it was as Tio had said too many times, when he'd go out of his way to check on team members, or would give money to the homeless kids he'd see on the street, his heart was too big. But then he tried to tell himself that this was no matter of the heart, but every day that seemed to be disproved more, because yes he lusted after Sly like he never had anyone else before, so much it almost scared him, but he had to admit that he cared for him too.

It was… A little confusing, disconcerting even, to find himself worried about Sly when he admitted to himself that he knew almost nothing about him, noticing the way his ears zeroed in instantly the moment his name was mentioned, as if they were discussing some best friend of his instead of a virtual stranger who hid himself behind snide remarks and harsh words. But then he guessed it was only natural, Sly did such stupid stuff that it was hard to not worry about him, hearing with badly hidden alarm about an attack, sounding almost like a stabbing, around the maze of abandoned buildings and warehouses he knew Sly lived in, well hidden somewhere and unfindable by anybody. He even went to see it, talking absently to Tio, who seemed to be sticking by his side even more than normal these days, about expanding their territory up here and knowing he didn't believe a single word of it. Pausing at the site of the attack, made obvious by the red splatters up the wall and droplets forming a trail that was soon washed away by the rain that fell heavy that week, forcing people indoors and clearing away any evidence that it had happened.

Even worse was that it was all hearsay and rumours, sure they said Sly was involved, but nobody knew any details, whether it was him who'd been injured or whether it was somebody else, whether it was a scuffle with another team or a falling out with a dealer or customer or anything. He couldn't ask Sly about it either, because the chances of getting a truthful answer from him were less than none and he knew that showing concern of any kind would only make Sly all the more determined to get him to shut the fuck up, usually by mounting him in some way or another and sealing his lips shut with his own.

It was odd now, when he showed up, because now they talked even less, often exchanging fewer than ten words before clothes were coming off and one of them, usually Sly, was being shoved against a wall and releasing a pleased, if not pained, laugh as Mizuki dug teeth into his never healed neck. Things weren't the same as before, when Sly had been trying to get into his pants by any means possible, through clever flirting and getting him drunk or slipping him drugs that even now he couldn't name. He accepted nothing, taking what was offered while he was there and stealing cigarettes but never actually taking thing with him, no food or alcohol or anything, if it was offered to him as a gift, he'd refuse, but if Mizuki left it lying out intentionally it would be gone by the time they were done. He still broke in, and he had the feeling he'd never stop that, always there waiting for him when he finished work, lounging on his sofa looking bored and having the audacity to complain about the bartender taking too long. No time to rest before they were at each other's throats, quite literally, Sly shoving hands into his jeans or sliding down his body as if it was second nature, unbuckling his belt faster than Mizuki could himself and getting to work as if it was all he knew.

Their banter was nearly dead most days, and Mizuki was certain he shouldn't miss it as much as he did, just frowning to himself whenever he made a remark and it wasn't immediately met with another, harsher response. It was as if all his personality, all his clever wit and quick humour had been beaten out of him, and for all he knew maybe it had. He'd never explain his injuries even when Mizuki asked, turning up once with his ribcage so bruised it had taken him a good half an hour to convince him he was up to it, bartender having to ignore his pained noises when he touched them and just hoping he could replace the pain he was obviously in with pleasure.

* * *

The thought of Sly was so inexplicably, irrevocably, linked to sex now. Every mention of his name and there were pants in his ear and hot skin under his fingers and lips on his and he had to hide the sudden heat in his cheeks and the fact that he felt lightheaded. Tio hadn't quite figured things out, but Mizuki knew it was only a matter of time, one night he'd surely show up at the apartment to find Sly there again and them in a compromising position, then his heart would well and truly shatter and Mizuki's life would end.

He thought about it sometimes, in depressing, still moments when he wished he'd just done what normal people did and found an actual boyfriend instead of getting involved with the scummiest person most people could think of, what would happen if they were caught. He wasn't even sure if Tio would tell, he knew anybody else would instantly, but Tio… He was different, not only was he loyal to Mizuki in a completely different way to the others, but he was slower to judge and more willing to give people a chance, deserving or not. But then he was still painfully, obviously in love with him and that could change things irreversibly, the knowledge he'd been replaced had already made him a little petty and cruel, remarks that would have been joking now seeming pointed and hard, cutting Mizuki deeper than he'd expected.

For the millionth time since he'd begun this, he wondered if maybe he could trick himself into falling in love with Tio, thinking that maybe if they just spent more time together, got even closer, that maybe he could learn to love him. But what hurt the most was knowing that the way things worked was not so simple, and that even trying that would only hurt his friend more when he inevitably realised he'd never feel anything but friendly love for him.

He tried to work it out, why he hadn't fallen for him, and he just couldn't, because Tio had all the features he'd look for in a boyfriend, but he just wasn't right, they weren't right together and that had become painfully obvious four years ago when he'd had to gently tell him he didn't feel the same. Had to watch him try not to cry and barely manage, angrily wiping away a single tear and telling him he understood when he didn't, when neither of them did, had to end their arrangement and have some time alone and watch Tio be cold and sad for weeks on end and not be able to seek the others comfort as he always would before.

* * *

He thought back in time, way back in time, over a year ago now, nearing a year and a half as summer began and his team grew busier than ever, his skin darkening and his hair growing lighter under the warm rays of the sun. Thought back to when Tio first visited him in the hospital, finding out only after he sent him away in selfish anger that he'd been there every day since he'd been admitted with a five inch deep stab wound and been rushed into emergency surgery. He thought to himself how conceited and selfish he'd been, because he obviously meant the world to Tio and he cursed himself for not being able to even pretend to feel the same, because he knew Tio would adore him for as long as he lived and that was kind of all he'd ever wanted. But it wasn't right, and they weren't, and he didn't know what had gone through Tio's head in the second the knife flashed then suddenly disappeared and he fell to the hard ground, had never thought to ask, because he was terrible and selfish and thought only of himself.

* * *

He hadn't expected it at all when Mizuki approached him the next day, looking a little nervous as he asked, saying he realised he'd never bothered asking for details at the time and that he was ready to know now. Hadn't wanted to remember the sheer horror that had filled him, the blood that had seemed to stain his hands for weeks long after it had been scrubbed off with so much force it left his hands red raw and aching. Nostrils flaring and all oxygen leaving his body for a horrifying second as he remembered the red raw fear that Mizuki could die, that he might suddenly not be there anymore. Recalled how the second he'd gone down everything had seemed to stop around him, the guy who'd been fighting him freezing in front of him, all eyes going to the strong body that hadn't been strong enough, flesh not enough to stop a knife. It felt like his entire life had ended at that moment, chest being crushed and not even sure if he'd screamed or not, certain he had, didn't remember the other team leaving but knowing that suddenly they were alone.

Most of the team had been there of course, about seven of them including Mizuki and himself, but it was as if it was just then, ignoring his own bleeding lip and the throbbing of his head where they'd got a lucky punch in. Not able to say how he'd gotten to his body, a good ten feet away so fast, or how his hands ended up covered in blood or what he'd been saying or doing or anything, just remembered warm, too much warm, coating his clothes as he screamed things he couldn't even hear over the blood pounding in his ears. Trying to get him to wake up even as the others realised it was too late for Yasu and focused on their leader instead, steady, stoic, the strongest of them all but felled with one blow. Not even sure what happened, whether they had called an ambulance, a basically useless measure on Midorijima with its tiny alleyways and awful emergency services, or whether he'd been pulled away and somebody had carried him.

But he remembered when it all rushed back into reality and all he could see was red and it stank of iron and Mizuki was gone somewhere, team in shambles and those few remaining just stood, staring at the bloodstain, not knowing what to do with their leader gone. Somebody had spoken to him, he knew that, taken his arm and led him away, grabbed his face and almost yelled at him, trying to get him to calm down when he couldn't because Mizuki could be dead and if that happened he didn't know how he'd live. It was like he'd given his entire life to being at Mizuki's side, to being his right hand man and following him wherever he might go, and he suddenly realised what a foolish thing that was to do even as he knew he'd never be able to stop.

He remembered a few words, hospital, not too deep, okay, okay, okay.

He wasn't sure when he'd thrown up, almost sure he'd blacked out with shock for a moment, coming to with his arms against a grimy alley wall and vomit splattered on his jeans and across the uneven ground, sure he'd never felt like this before. Shaky and almost painfully drunk, like he couldn't control his limbs, letting somebody else lead him away, too distraught and too in shock to even register that he should have gone with Mizuki, should never have left him.

He wasn't sure how he got home, but he ended up sat on his couch, bundled up in a blanket with a mug of something in his hands and concerned voices murmuring behind him, saying something about shock and he was almost sure he heard the word love in there somewhere.

For a while it seemed he forgot, as if nothing had happened, snapping into some strange kind of catatonia where he managed a shaky smile and to accept the reassurances of the others, saying he'd be okay alone, he'd just been in shock, and he'd never been good with blood. Stumbling into his shower the minute they were gone, clothes and all, ditching them so harshly, suddenly needing them away from him, tearing his shirt and throwing filthy jeans across the room, burning water sending red swirling down the drain and making him so lightheaded he blacked out for a while. Coming to with wrinkled fingers to see it was dark outside and without prompt, bursting into tears, washed away with the water and fear infiltrating every inch of him so he just stayed sitting in his shower for hours, eventually managing to stumble out and into bed barely dry, passing out from exhaustion.

But all he said was, "I thought you were dead."

He barely registered his tone, or the way his nostrils hitched by themselves, or the fact he had the sudden, irrational urge to reach out and touch him, to make sure this whole thing hadn't been some hallucination brought on by grief, but he managed not to. He didn't think he'd ever told somebody that, keeping his fear hidden by repeating their lies that he'd be okay, because he had to be, Tio couldn't foresee any situation where he wasn't.

But the bartender's eyes had lowered and he looked almost ashamed, because he'd been so overcome with sudden grief at the loss of Yasu that he hadn't even considered how it must have felt for Tio to see that. To watch first hand as he was injured so badly, to be covered in his blood and to have to check for a pulse with shaking hands, not sure if he was relieved to find one or not because fuck it was so weak.

His swallow was thick and he averted his eyes because somehow even talking about this months later was still too much and he almost feared he might cry because somehow the fear was still there, "can we not talk about this?"

"Sure, sorry… Tio." He almost didn't know what he was sorry for, but Tio liked to think that it was for the way he'd acted when he'd awoken, because he couldn't help being stabbed after all, so apologising for that was foolish. He hoped Mizuki had realised how cruel it had been to send Tio away when he knew his feelings, when all he wanted to do in the second his eyes opened was hold his hand or bury his face into his chest and cry and feel relief wash over him, to be greeted with a smile as if nothing had happened. He knew that feeling, that sudden strong rush of emotion, of love or infatuation or whatever it was, was something he'd never forget, because in the second before Mizuki's voice turned hard, before he shook him off, it had been so perfect, like everything would be right again.

"It's not like you could help it," but he wasn't meeting his eyes, looking off to the side and biting his bottom lip hard, because that wasn't true, he wasn't talking about him being stabbed and they both knew it.

"Yeah," he sighed and it was sad and Tio felt horrible for making him feel like this, because this memory shouldn't be a sad one, because Mizuki had been okay and their mourning for Yasu was done quietly now, privately in occasional moments that faded away fast enough. "Nobu said you probably saved my life."

"What?"

"They pulled the knife out before they left, he said you… Pressed down on the wound, stopped me bleeding out." Tio's expression was both confused and somehow afraid at the same time, not remembering doing that but supposing it made sense that even in his panicked state he still would have tried to help. "I just… It feels like something you should know."

He didn't know what to say, eyes flickering all over his face and feeling heat rise in his chest and his throat grow thick, "yeah, well. I didn't have much choice." Because he would save Mizuki a million times over, would go through all that again a thousand times and more just to be able to see his smile now, olive eyes unreadable but something like regret in his eyes that he couldn't understand. He would never stop saving Mizuki anymore than he would stop loving him, and in this moment he felt that more deeply than ever, knowing he'd tear his heart out just to be near him, just to be able to see that smile, and somehow he felt lonelier than ever.

* * *

"Do you ever actually do anything?" His tone was infinitely unimpressed upon picking the lock of the door to find that not only was Mizuki already there, but he was doing nothing more than lounging on his sofa in just his pants. Pizza boxes surrounded him and there was a slice in his hand with several bites missing, couple empty bottles of beer resting on the coffee table and a fresh one lying next to a bottle opener. So of course Sly immediately stole both it and a slice of pizza, watching as the bartender just rolled his eyes absently, widening in alarm as his eyes flickered to the TV screen to see what he was so enjoying.

Pausing to blink because surely he must be seeing things, because Mizuki seemed to be watching some kind of home renovation show, there was some besuited man stood in a half built entrance hall with high ceilings, wittering on about how much natural light the windows would let in and how eco-friendly this entire thing was.

Mizuki could tell when he was being judged, and Sly was never exactly subtle about it either, so the minute that stare locked on him again he bristled with annoyance because he knew his TV viewing was unusual, but damn it he liked architecture and shows like this were a good way to pass the time. Plus if he fell asleep during one of these episodes he most likely wouldn't miss anything important and would wake up just in time to see the finished product and judge it for himself, usually deeming it nice but way too big.

"I do stuff sometimes," he objected, finishing the last slice of his pizza and pretending he couldn't see Sly's not even remotely hidden attempt to steal his cigarettes, lighting one and standing there with beer and fag in one hand, and rapidly disappearing pizza in the other. He wondered absently whether he would have any of those things if he'd offered, and he was certain the answer was no, even if he told him to help himself to pizza now he'd bet a lot of money on the fact that the slice he rapidly polished off would be his last.

"When was the last time you did something then?"

"I was at work yes-"

"Work doesn't count," because it seemed the bartender had no idea you were meant to do things other than work and crash out at night, since seemingly that was all he ever did, Sly registering somewhere in the back of his mind that he'd turned 22 recently and wondering if he'd even gotten drunk to celebrate.

"Ugh," he groaned absently, because his work was a large part of his life and it was more than just a job, but he knew explaining that to Sly would be more than useless, trying to think of something else and almost waiting for it to be shot down almost immediately. "I went on rounds with the guys."

"Dry Juice stuff doesn't count either," he paused to wait for Mizuki to respond, eating pizza absently and seemingly actually having to think about it

"Does doing you count?" He asked, eyebrow raised almost seductively as he grabbed the beer out of Sly's hand and took a drink, handing it back a second later, noticing the others unimpressed look as if he hadn't stolen it in the first place.

"Hm," he actually laughed at that, well, more like a breathy exhale but some amused noise seeped in, because that was pretty funny and he had to admit that it was certainly a strenuous and frequent activity. "I suppose so."

"I work out and stuff too, that enough for you?"

"Well we both know I do appreciate that," he almost sneered, though his eyes scanned Mizuki's chest as he rolled his eyes and stood, heading into the kitchen to get another beer, or two, as Sly downed his the moment he realised his goal. "I seem to be out of beer."

He just sighed exasperatedly as he handed over the new bottle, leaning over the coffee table to grab the opener and unaware of how incredibly alluring his back had become, strong shoulders straining and muscles flexing and tensing, Sly couldn't wait to wreck it with nail marks.

"Well happy birthday to me," he murmured as Mizuki stretched out to hand him his beer, though of course his whispers were always stage ones, because he wanted Mizuki to know exactly how much he appreciated his newly muscled torso, and of course the rest of him, including organs that lay a little further south. "Though I don't remember ordering a stripper?"

He ignored that last comment, because if he couldn't be topless in his own home then he'd never get to be, Sly was just lucky, or unlucky knowing his mind frame, that he even had pants on seeing as he usually crashed out in just his boxers.

"Happy birthday indeed, so how old are you then?" It was sarcastic, because something in Sly's tone had been so teasing that he just knew it wasn't actually his birthday, he was just making his usual perverted comments, yellow eyes scanning down to his low-riding sweatpants keenly, unconsciously licking his lips, though knowing Sly there was nothing unconscious about it.

"Eighteen," he grinned, but of course there was something hidden behind his words and Mizuki picked up on it instantly, just grinning in response to his slight suggestive raise of eyebrows and dirty smirk, the first he'd shown since arriving, like a feather down his spine.

"Oh? Finally legal huh?" He chuckled, then paused, because Sly had answered his question too plainly for it to be an annoying response to an almost hypothetical question. "Wait, is it actually your birthday?"

"Could be. It's sometime around here." He shrugged uncaringly, but then of course he did, seeing Mizuki's frown and rolling his eyes even as he elaborated, and that was unusual in itself. "It's like the 22nd or 23rd, I don't really care."

"You don't know when your birthday is?"

"I know roughly, let me guess, you have some problem with that?"

"A little bit!" Because he knew Sly didn't care about much other than drugs and fucking him, but your birthday was one of those pieces of information that you just inherently knew, and to discover that maybe he didn't was a little shocking. "Are you even sure you're turning eighteen?"

"No," he shook his head, ignoring Mizuki's bug eyed look, because he tended to lose count of the days that passed him by so he could be older or even younger, albeit probably only by about a year either way, he had no relatives to ask and he could hardly march into the hospital and demand his birth certificate, if he even had one. "Does it matter?"

"I guess not," aside from the fact that it meant he might once have been fucking a fifteen year old, which was too much for him to handle now, he supposed it didn't much matter, Sly may as well just choose a day to call his birthday. "Looks like we've got celebrating to do."

Sly's lips were thin but his smirk was wide, that horribly enchanting thing that made Mizuki's skin feel warm as it was focused on him, head tilted to the side and yellow eyes appraising as they observed him. He supposed he made an impressive sight these days and he'd noticed Tio staring more than once when he changed after a run or was woken by his knock at the door and didn't pull on a shirt before answering, he had a feeling he could get used to the attention. He felt a little exposed, stood there being watched so intently, but then the gaze was gone and his intruder was reaching into his pocket for something, removing a small packet of white powder and grinning.

"You read my mind, good thing I came prepared, hm?"

The bartender just watched as he stepped past him to sit on the couch, not even bothering to molest him on the way over as he usually did, seemingly too focused on his drug haul to be bothered by him now. But then this was how they always did things, they got drunk first and Sly took god knows what illegal substances, then, and only then, would Sly get the fuck he came for and that Mizuki was more than willing to give.

"Want a line?" He offered, already using his coffee table as a drug preparation table, getting a razor blade from fuck knew where and pouring about half of the bag onto the table, neatly cutting it into rows with the shining steel.

"What is it, coke?" He asked, although he wasn't sure what else it could be, because after all how many drugs came as that distinctive white powder, not entirely sure he even appreciated Sly's offer, let alone the fact he was seemingly going to snort it straight off his coffee table. Sly just nodded, crafting out the lines with too much skill for Mizuki to feel anything but uncomfortable, because he might be eighteen now, but these were hard drugs and nobody should be doing them in his opinion. "How much that cost you?"

The yellow gaze was on him for a second, eyes narrowed and almost suspicious, maybe realising he was genuinely curious and shrugging, telling the truth for one, "I did somebody a favour, this was payment. But this quality would be about… ¥8100 for a gram, there's probably two here, so about ¥16,200?"

His eyes widened but only a little, because he knew cocaine was one of the pricier drugs, but that was a fucking lot of money for what seemed like such a tiny amount, "what did you do to earn such a generous gift?"

He wasn't mistaken this time when he froze for a second, more like watching a glitch in a video than a conscious, obvious movement, almost looking like his eyes had just faltered for a second, yellow far more intense than ever as they regarded him, thin eyebrow raised. "Do you really want to know?"

He paused for only a second, because he wasn't even sure why he asked, he knew what Sly did, everybody did, it was presumably something sex related, though maybe he'd been dealing for someone, he seemed like the type and he'd certainly have the contacts. He wondered now for the first time, if maybe he should have been using condoms from the start, but it was a bit late now and to his knowledge Sly was better known for sucking dick than anything else, so he should be clean enough. "Not really."

"Hm," his noise made it obvious that he'd known the answer long before Mizuki spoke, just turning back to the lines on the table and gazing at them almost fondly, his expression making the bartender feel a little queasy because there wasn't a single shred of nervousness there. "So you doing some or not?"

"It's… Not really my thing," now that was an understatement, he could still remember with vivid clarity, the last time he had agreed to do drugs with Sly, waking up with no idea what had happened to discover he'd let the other, then sixteen year old, suck him off. It wasn't really in his plans to let himself get that out of control again, though he supposed they'd already had sex now so it wouldn't matter too much, there wasn't much they could do now that would freak him out. The only thing he ever really used was weed, and even that was infrequent and a damn sight more chilled out than this, a businessman's drug lying prettily on his coffee table and making him feel wary the way sharing a couple of joints with his guys never had.

"At least do a scoop," he frowned, because he didn't offer his drugs out, especially not something this high quality and expensive, it had cost him a fair bit, indirectly anyway, to get it and the least the bartender could do was have a little bit.

"A what?"

He just stared at him for a second, then he laughed, seemingly very amused as he observed the tattooists confused expression, because he looked so unnerved, like a teenager trying weed for the first time and terrified their parents would somehow find out. "You really don't know anything, do you?"

"I apologise if my knowledge of illegal narcotics isn't enough for you," he complained, and he was feeling distinctly unnerved by this whole situation, the fact it wasn't illegal didn't really bother him, he'd seen plenty of handovers and knew full well that people probably used coke and similar things in his club. Nor was Sly's age really an issue, because at least it wasn't heroin or meth or something ridiculous, no, it was more the fear of the unknown, like that horrible nervous feeling the first time you ate a pot brownie and were silently afraid you'd have a bad trip or freak out. Just being in the same room as the powder was making him nervous and he almost wished he'd told Sly to put it away the minute he got it out, not sure he wanted to see him snort a line as he presumably planned.

"It's to be expected, you are the worst Rib leader ever," he bristled but only a little, because there was half a joke in his voice and that made him feel a little better, because to his knowledge the only Rib teams that used drugs frequently were the terrible ones like Bug Bomb and Speedballs, who were themselves named after a way to take cocaine and heroin together. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"I could die," he was surprised himself to hear the genuine lack of amusement in his voice, tone hard and solid, almost a little mean, as if he was indirectly calling Sly a moron for even suggesting he take something so dangerous that he'd never even seen it in the flesh before.

"Sure," he replied absently enough, not rolling his eyes but tone somehow implying how much he'd love to and how ridiculous the bartender was being, immediately disregarding his point and continuing anyway. "But what could actually happen?" It wasn't a question he was meant to answer, but his mouth opened anyway to spew anything he could think of, heart attacks or comas, addiction, and that one scared him the most, because Sly seemed to not be hooked but for all he knew this could be the start of the end for him. "We could fuck, not an issue. You could say dumb shit. But you do that all the time anyway. Maybe you'll get a nose bleed. That's it."

"Okay, I do not say dumb shit," he frowned, because if Sly was just here to mock him he may as well just fuck off so he could go back to his pizza and crappy TV show, just scowling as he was met with an irritatingly derisive look, eyebrow raised and lips twisted up in disbelief.

"Right. Look just take a bit, it only lasts like an hour so if you're a little bitch I won't have to deal with you for long.

"You know Sly, sometimes you're just so sweet."

"Anything for you dear," he replied absently, head tilted to the side and a feigned if not worryingly realistically warm smile on his face, falling away quickly as he stuck his tongue out in disgust, noise of clear displeasure leaving him. "So it's settled, you're having some. Got a straw?"

How exactly it was settled he couldn't claim to know, because he'd agreed to nothing, but he guessed just a little bit would be okay, and an hour wasn't too bad, Sly might be an asshole but he'd at least stay there if anything did happen. He just sighed heavily and headed towards the kitchen, pausing as Sly yelled after him to bring scissors too, not sure he'd trust the other with a sharp blade but obeying anyway because he had the nasty habit of doing that now.

Handing both items over and watching as Sly cut the straw right in the middle, leaving about two inches of opaque green plastic, seemingly his preferred method of snorting, just glad he hadn't asked for a banknote.

"And you'll need a credit card or a key, up to you." Mizuki had no idea what he'd need either of those for since Sly had already made four neat lines on the table with the razor blade, so from his knowledge of cocaine in films, it was either a credit card or a blade, not both. But then he was the expert so he returned with his apartment key a second later, handing it over only a little reluctantly, and watching as Sly carefully put a pinch of the white powder onto the very tip of the key, lying it neatly on the table beside his lines. "Don't be a fucking pussy for once."

With that last, ever so soft remark, he bent his head down over the table, straw just touching his nostril and finger pressing the other closed, snorting quickly like he had a cold and was worried his nose was running, straightening back up and breathing out his mouth hard, eyes wide and blinking fast, sniffing hard again. He thought it was over, expression probably as mildly horrified as he felt, feeling a sense of almost predictability as he immediately leaned forwards to take another line, this time into the opposite nostril, exhaling a breathy laugh as he met Mizuki's eyes, sniffing hard again to really get it into his system and wiping any traces off his nose.

"Your go," he said it calmly enough but there was something calculating in his eyes, some judgemental, anticipatory gaze that said he expected Mizuki to back out now, to say that no he wasn't doing it and to be a pussy as usual.

He supposed he should be grateful that Sly didn't expect him to do two whole lines like he had, or even one, regarding the fairly small amount on the key, surely the scoop he had referred to, sighing quietly and moving to sit cross legged in front of his coffee table that had suddenly turned into a scene from Scarface. He glanced up at Sly a little nervously, because like anything new he was cautious, and he knew Sly was used to doing shit like this, almost like his teacher now, just regarding him with intense yellow eyes.

"That's high quality shit, smooth as fuck," he seemed pleased with it, eyeing the bartender and the remaining lines with a raised eyebrow, lighting a cigarette a second later and Mizuki realising with more than a little interest how incredibly huge his pupils had blown, yellow almost completely hidden by black. Sniffing occasionally and chuckling an amused breath as the tattooist remained unmoving, "go on then, it's only a tiny bit, you probably won't even feel it."

He was certain that waiting longer was just making him more nervous, horribly aware of the eyes on him somehow making this seem a lot more stressful, almost worried he'd do something dumb, like drop it. But he picked up the key carefully, trying not to look at Sly, because he knew he'd have that horrible smug expression and he didn't want to see it now, didn't want to admit that he'd sacrificed even more of his morals at his insistence.

Hesitating only for a second later before blocking one nostril and, with only a little trepidation, snorting it up his nose in the same fashion Sly had, not feeling much other than the bizarre sensation of something being sucked up his nose that wasn't normally there. Feeling it hitting the back of his throat and eyes widening in surprise more than anything else, because it hadn't been too bad, only glancing up when Sly started applauding, slow and almost mocking though his expression was pleased as he sniffed again.

"Well done, Dry Juice. We'll make a man of you yet," he was vaguely aware he was being insulted, somewhere under that almost approving smile he was laughing at how scared he'd been to do the tiniest amount of coke when he'd happily do the whole gram and more too. But somehow the almost crafty gleam in his eyes was enough to make him relax, aware faintly that his throat and face seemed to be excessively numb, presuming this was normal, it almost reminded him of the way weed dried his throat out and made his mouth dry.

He just laughed again, breathy and somewhat out of it as if it had hit him already, Mizuki not yet feeling much different, wondering if his pupils were as obscenely blown, "it'll hit in a couple, your tongue'll go numb."

He just nodded, grabbing his beer and sure he could feel something dripping down the back of his throat the way snot did when he got a particularly bad cold, making him want to swallow a lot and only a little unpleasant. "Seems unfair that it's your birthday and you're the one giving me shit."

"Oh believe me, I'm still relying on you to get me drunk," his smile was more genuine than normal and Mizuki wondered if that was because of the cocaine or just because he was actually relaxed now. But then maybe he'd passed some kind of test and Sly was willing to open up a little more now he'd proved himself in his eyes, but then maybe the coke was setting in and his brain was turning to mush. "Ah fuck, I need to thank my dealer, this shit has to be 60% at least."

"As in, 40% something else?"

"They cut it with stuff to make their profits bigger, but this stuff is pretty clean." That was presumably good, but Mizuki was still mildly concerned at what the hell he might have just inadvertently snorted, since he assumed cocaine was, well, cocaine, not something else combined with it. "So, booze?"

* * *

He felt fine as he stood, and fine as he grabbed white rum, because he was sick of vodka and this was the same strength so Sly couldn't complain, one of the nicer bottles too since it was possibly, probably his birthday, and his 18th at that, figuring he may as well offer the best gift he could without it being thrown back in his face. He felt fine as he filled glasses with ice and grabbed a couple big bottles of coke, tongue growing numb as he climbed the stairs and feeling his heart rate rise, feeling suddenly warm even though he had yet to put a shirt on, not really seeing much point since Sly had seen it all before.

This was, he thought absently, a bit like a birthday party, and what party would be complete without a little bit of cocaine and, hopefully, a lot of fucking, in fact the only thing needed to complete the cliché would be a stripper, and he had the feeling Sly could be talked into that easily enough. He felt bizarrely excellent as he walked back into his apartment, suddenly overcome with a burst of euphoria that he didn't even register as being artificial, feeling almost cocky as he let Sly take over and pour the drinks.

"Rum, nice, nice." He nodded enthusiastically, smile wider than normal and almost seeming a bit… Well, giggly, if that was a term that could ever be applied to him, managing to pour drinks easy enough but not able to hide a laugh as he regarded Mizuki's rapid blinking and mild confusion. "It hit you yet?"

"I think so, I feel… Kinda warm."

He raised an eyebrow, wondering if that was all, though he supposed the bartender had taken a damn lot less than him so he wouldn't be tripping quite as hard, reaching for his glass and drinking it too fast because he was invincible right now. "Feel free to take more clothes off."

"Oh you'd like that wouldn't you," normally his tone would be a little teasing at most, but now he suddenly felt on top of the world, like a million dollars, like he could do anything and everything, voice all throaty, dipping down low and seductive without him even noticing. He barely registered how out of it he was until Sly laughed, actually laughed and fuck that was a pretty sound, pink lips parted and cheeks flushed in the sudden warmth of the room, blacks of his eyes huge and yellow like a band of gold around them. For a second he was speechless, because he wasn't sure if it was just the coke or whether it had always been this way, but in that moment Sly was insanely beautiful and it almost felt like love, feeling slipping away the second he spoke.

"Oh it's fucking hit you," he laughed again and he had surprisingly white teeth that Mizuki was sure he'd never noticed before, not sure if he felt hyper or really chilled or something in between, not knowing if he wanted to sit down and chat or to let out some of this burst of energy. Distracted instead by the way his blue hair shifted as he shrugged out of his jacket, watching as creamy skin was exposed in his vest top, slit open deep at the sides so when he moved to pour another drink his ribs were on show, hard and trying to break through their flesh confines. Looking up again and just having to avert his eyes to laugh because Mizuki looked so incredibly obviously stoned that it was pretty funny. "You're so fucked!"

Then there was a pause as Mizuki just grinned, because fucked he might be, and as fucked as he might look he felt god damned amazing and he didn't much care what Sly thought, because he looked higher than he'd ever seen him, busy riding his trip. "Wanna take a line?" He broke his own sentence with a laugh, bartender just blinking, because hell fucking yeah he did, he was amazing, he felt a million dollars and he just knew more coke would only make it better.

"Alright," all previous qualms about this were gone, cocaine confidence thrumming through his veins and just taking the straw from Sly's hands with little thought for spreading germs and cross contamination. He felt like he'd been doing this forever, snorting the line up like a pro and wriggling his nose as it hit, pressing down on his nostrils and almost wincing as it hit the back of his throat and he had to sniff again to make sure it was all gone. Wiping his nose clear and noticing a faint speckle of blood on his hand with only a tiny amount of concern, because he was too powerful right now to be worried about something so stupid.

* * *

Two drinks, three, four, the bottle nearly empty and Mizuki feeling painfully warm, everything seeming to become more intense, the feeling of the couch against his skin and Sly's hair accidentally brushing his shoulder, the voice from next to him, the colours of everything seeming to pop and scream in front of his eyes fascinatingly. He'd done another line and so had Sly, a good amount of the bag still left, three lines by Sly's count, one more each then one to share, because he was feeling generous and getting high alone wasn't as much fun.

There was a lull in their conversation, which had been dumb as fuck and would probably lead to anybody even within earshot guessing they were something more than just drunk, both smoking cigarettes and Sly pouring them drinks from the new bottle. Mizuki had conceded that it was Sly's birthday after all, and they were celebrating, and he wouldn't really miss the money, grabbing the extra bottle the minute the final drinks from the other had been poured and taking a moment to just stand in his bar tripping like shit.

"You know," Sly began calmly encouraging him tilt his head to the side, watching as Sly stubbed out his cigarette and turned to him contemplatively. "I could beat the shit out of you."

Why that was so funny Mizuki had less than no idea, but he laughed all the same, the laugh of somebody who would find anything amusing in the state they were in, an uncontrollable sort of chuckle that was really more a giggle. "Oh really?" He felt like there was a challenge being issued even though neither one of them had said anything of the sort, something in his bones almost yelling for a fight, knowing he'd win because he was strong as fuck right now, pure metal coursing through his veins. "Wanna bet?"

Yellow eyes turned to him almost disbelievingly, "are you saying you wanna fight me?" It wouldn't be the first time he'd fought somebody when off his face on cocaine, in fact he was usually a hell of a lot more violent when he'd taken it, because it gave you that dangerous invincible feeling that always resulted in him taking on more than he could handle and ending up limping home beaten half to death.

"If you're not too scared to lo-," he began, about to say some other kind of taunt, when suddenly there was a body launched towards him and all he could do was bark out a laugh and grab his wrists, half wrestling him off and amazed to hear a peal of almost tinkling laughter as they ended up tumbling onto the floor. This was not what either of them had intended, but they both had the invincible complex that came with snorting large amounts of illegal, Class A stimulant drugs, Sly not even showing concern that they might lose some of said drug as they banged into the table.

Each was fighting to win, Sly using his usual dirty tactics and shoving a palm straight into his face, not even moving it away as Mizuki licked it horribly thoroughly, using his face as leverage to launch himself onto the sofa. It was already unbearably hot in the apartment, though whether it was the drugs, the drink or just the heating, neither knew, but Sly's skin felt like fire on his and it almost burnt when he grabbed him around the waist, vest top riding up and skin squirming to get free.

His laugh was addictive, almost sweet, not his usual dry chuckle or derisive puff of air, no, now it was high and wild and happy and he'd do anything to hear it more, yanking him back down and not even pausing as he landed atop him with such force it forced the air out of his lungs. Just panting out a laughing breath of air and attempting to win him over even as he scaled him like a tree, hands jabbing him everywhere and blue hair all over his face, obscuring his vision, bartender turning to dirty tactics and twisting their legs together, gaining the momentum to flip them.

Holy fuck he was out of breath, but taking a second to recover was out of the question with Sly already digging sharp fingers into his side and his laughter still ringing in his ears like a bell, the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard and a million times more poignant under the fuzz that clouded his brain. Just trying to squirm away somehow while trapped in the small space between the couch and the coffee table where their drinks still sat half full and worryingly close to the expensive, albeit gifted, drugs that they had every intention of finishing.

"Get off, asshole!" His words held no fire, laughing through them and kneeing Mizuki hard in the stomach, using his momentary advantage to scramble away and onto the couch again, bartender quickly following him and grabbing his legs, watching out for his feet only vaguely because he sure as hell didn't think he could feel pain right now. Jumping onto the couch himself and grabbing his legs even as he attempted to slide over the floor onto the sofa arm, vest top having flopped over his face and entire slim back exposed. His skin looked as cold as ice but felt like lava against his hands as he grabbed his legs and pulled him back over with an alarmed yelp he never would have normally made, ending up flat on his face with his legs over Mizuki's lap, twisting over with an unimpressed frown.

"Say I win!" Mizuki almost demanded, laughing as Sly, seemingly out of breath as his flat stomach rose and fell, ribs appearing and disappearing as he did, just shoved his middle finger up, shifting so he was leaning against the armrest. He looked quite comfortable if anything, just flopping back into the material and yanking his shirt back down to cover himself, smile relaxing and pausing for a moment to shove his foot into Mizuki's face.

"See, I didn't want to beat you too bad, so I let you win," his voice was genuine but his expression was still amused and pupils still insanely wide, that and his dishevelled hair making him seem like far more of a mess than he was, which was admittedly, pretty extreme anyway.

"Whatever you say," he responded, because they both knew he was lying, Mizuki was bigger than him and in a close quarters fight he would definitely emerge victorious, he had more strength, but in a regular fight Sly's speed and agility might even put them at an even keel. He hoped never to find out, just shoving off the foot, clad in dirty sock, which was poking into his cheek irritatingly. "Get your foot outta my face, I'm trying to get drunk."

"You're drunk enough," he retorted, but he slid off the couch to quickly do another line before resuming his place, ankles resting over the bartenders lap and seemingly refusing to move them, finding this a pleasing position to sit in while they finished their drinks.

He didn't realise that he was forgetting anything at first, sipping his drink and just wondering absently why Sly's feet felt like lead blocks in his lap one second and lighter than feathers a moment later, like he was floating away. The sensation was worrying for a moment, at least until he remembered that he was tripping the fuck out and reality flooded back in for just a second and he remembered with a grin, a sure-fire way to piss Sly off. "Oh yeah, happy birthday, dickhead." He raised his glass as he spoke as if in the worst toast mankind had ever seen, watching the boy basically lying across him gaze up at him, grin still not faded even after what felt like hours, third line still buzzing in the back of his skull.

"Awh, Mizuki, you're so sweet," it was meant to be sarcastic, he was sure it had sounded that way in his head but it left sounding worryingly genuine and he frowned at himself absently because he wasn't even that high or that drunk yet it seemed he'd already lost his filter.

Whether the bartender noticed his slip up of tone, he had no idea because he just grinned and licked his bottom lip absently and pleasingly distractingly, voice a little dark and they were back to business, "I could be sweeter."

"Oh, how's that?" He knew exactly what he meant, what he was implying, but he liked to play innocent sometimes, standing from his rather compromising position to linger behind the coffee table instead instead, offering the straw to Mizuki who just took it silently and quickly polished off his last line.

"Always so naive, hm? I'd almost think you do it on purpose," he just smiled, dark and serious, sending chills up Sly's spine even as he took his last line and a burst of euphoria overcame his mind, not replying and just eying the last line instead, getting an idea.

"Wherever do you get that idea from?" They both knew his games by now, he didn't keep them well hidden after all and the tattooist just rolled his eyes, draining his drink and the last of their alcohol, watching absently, head tilted to the side, as Sly pressed his finger into the white powder and rubbed it into his gums. "I'd almost think you didn't trust me."

"About as far as I could throw you," he remarked quietly, just following the gesture of Sly fingers and rubbing the white powder into his mouth, surprised at how quick it dissolved on his tongue and gums and licking it away calmly. He didn't know if Sly had heard, and assumed he hadn't, because there was a hand on his neck and he was being yanked somewhat roughly across the table so he could kiss him, chest hitting the edge hard. Well, it seemed things had been started for him, not even considering complaining because somehow Sly tasted better than ever, intoxicating and heady as he slid his wet tongue into his mouth a little sloppily. His fingers were scalding where they rested on his neck and shoulder, nails feeling like daggers on his skin and hair electrifying every nerve in his body as he fisted a hand into it, hard.

Then he was shoved off as fast as he'd been pulled in, only able to gasp in surprise before the command to get on the couch came quick and with his voice firm, darkened with badly hidden lust and Sly standing up to yank off his vest. His skin was damp with sweat and the air was hot with heavy expectation, white skin marked with scars and bruises but shining like crystal under the 40 watt bulb. Slim planes of untouched skin revealed as he stretched as if trying to blot out the light, ribs straining to break free from under the web of nerves and hard blue veins that covered them, hips sharp and stomach concave, waist so slim Mizuki could swear he'd be able to encircle it with his hands.

His act slipped for a moment as his foot caught on the table and he nearly fell, but he managed to restore his balance and within seconds was right back to sexually frustrating Mizuki, pushing his shoulders so he sat back on the couch, knees shoved back to the edge and unable to do anything but watch. Not that there was much more to watch now, after all, why would Sly finish undressing himself when he'd much rather be under the bartender with lips on his neck and hands sliding into his boxers? Straddling his lap because hell he loved doing that, and just grabbing Mizuki's hands when they tried to settle on his waist, because it was his birthday after all, and he'd get what he wanted tonight.

"Ah, ah, not yet bartender," he scolded lightly, voice low and teasing as he just wrapped slim fingers around his thick wrists, pinning them to the sofa by his side and arching his back so he could whisper into his ear. Lips deliberately brushing the skin and making sure to let warm air trickle over his skin as his long locks of hair fell to trail over his shoulder, almost whispering and making soft breathy noises as he considered his words. "You're my present, and I'm going to take my time unwrapping you."

He felt his brain turn to mush first, because hearing Sly's words almost dripping down his skin like honey was too much, painfully aware of the few points where they touched and how hot the air was between them, sizzling and crackling with electricity. Then reality came back and he snapped the mood like it was a stick of celery or something equally mundane, "but I'm only wearing sweatpants."

The only issue was that he was close enough to hear Sly mutter something that sounded horribly like the word 'useless' before his hands had moved to his head, gripping it hard and holding it in place firmly, a little painful but so harsh and dominant that he just grunted and held in his discomfort. He was almost hissing in his ear, angry but somehow still so fucking hot that Mizuki could feel sweat trickling down his spine, "fine then, but I don't like gifts that talk back, so you're going to be a good boy and do what you're told, understand me?"

"Y-yeah," his breath hitched a little as he spoke because Sly's hands were in his hair and yanking at his scalp and he just knew how this was going to end, painfully and so sinfully good that he'd be thinking about it for weeks after.

"Good, now hurry up and kiss me before I go fuck somebody else," that was bullshit, he'd never leave now, nobody else he'd ever been with had been as damn good as the bartender and they both knew it. But then he supposed it made sense because somebody who paid him for a quick fuck would hardly be worried about technique or ensuring he had a good time too, but Mizuki was far too conscientious and too malleable to do anything but give Sly what he wanted, and right now he wanted the bartender.

He'd known from the second he made his demand clear that the bartender wanted it as much as he did, having kept his hands obediently away from his skin the whole time he was winding him up, so when he snapped he did it so hard Sly was surprised, gasping hard as nails dug into the small of his back and he was yanked forwards and down. Lips meeting his with force like fire but ten times warmer, retaliating by pulling on burgundy hair and savouring every pained grunt and hungry sound that travelled between their twining tongues.

This was what made this all so perfect, nobody else would dare even try and be this rough with him, they'd be too scared to match his anger and desire, they'd give in too easily and let him do whatever he wanted, but Mizuki fought back, as cruel to Sly as he was to him. Hand that had just been playing with his hair now grabbing the long strands and pulling his head back so hard stars burst in front of his eyes and all he could do was laugh breathlessly as lips came to bite and suck at his neck with bruising strength, no subtlety between them now.

He didn't know what had gotten into the bartender, whether it was the potent combination of coke and rum, or just his pent up frustrations, but he was terrifying and thrilling Sly in equal amounts, mouth working down his chest wetly, leaving a trail of bites and only stopping when the angle got too much for him. It was like he learned a new kink of his every time they met up to do this, and now it seemed he had a thing for being thrown around, hands under his thighs digging into soft flesh and lifting him before he could even register it, only able to cling on as his back landed hard on the couch and the bartender crawled over him.

His pupils were huge as he glanced up at him, smiling against his stomach as he took in his expression and he wouldn't even want to guess what it might be now, eyes wide with aroused surprise and lips parted as he tried to catch his breath because he wasn't being given a chance to and damn he liked that. Teeth grazing against his hipbones hard and making him hitch an anticipatory breath as lips pressed onto the horribly sensitive skin, tongue laving over the mark he was sucking into his pale flesh. He was almost agonisingly near to his crotch now, well-worn denim slipped down to reveal the pronounced v bones where a trail of blue hairs trailed up towards his bellybutton, nosing into the softest skin where his jeans began and licking a stripe up his stomach as he unbuttoned his fly and helped him slide free of his constraints.

His dick was so hard where it strained against the material of his boxers that he was amazed there wasn't a disgusting damp patch on the fabric, just holding his breath because while he'd sucked the bartender off enough times, he'd never returned the favour and he was simultaneously fascinated and impatient to see what he could do with that pretty mouth of his. Something about him now was a little scary and Sly could feel something akin to trepidation building in his gut as wet lips began working on his other hip and he pulled his boxers down with as little finesse as possible, clearly seeing clothes as nothing more than an irritating obstruction stopping him from reaching his goal.

He was completely naked, covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his chest was heaving already without so much as his dick having been touched, and still Mizuki didn't reach for the neglected organ that lay on his chest and he suddenly realised he was teasing him. The situation had flipped so fast that he was almost annoyed, but god how could he be with the tattooist's fingers on his inner thighs and his mouth so near to where he needed it but not quite close enough. He wasn't sure he'd ever lost control this fast, but his head was fuzzy and lights were bursting in front of his eyes as his gaze was locked on that burgundy head, looking so right between his legs and tongue licking at the place where his thighs were softest and painfully sensitive. Eyes flickering up to his in the second he bit down, hard and Sly's breath came out in a broken gasp, almost pained but so fucking aroused that he barely felt the pain as he gripped the skin in his teeth and sucked it into his mouth hard, salty tang on his lips so addictive.

There was something almost intimidating in his eyes, it was like he was starving and Sly was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted, a hungry, starved glare under that olive gaze, taking in the almost nervous look in Sly's eyes and planting a small, almost soothing kiss against his hip in the second before he slid his lips around his dick and he full on moaned. His hips bucked unconsciously but firm hands on his stomach kept him pressed down, whining high and needy as Mizuki's tongue flicked over his hypersensitive slit and one hand worked the base with firm movements of his large hand.

It was like he didn't know how long he'd wanted this until he got it, always preferring to be the one servicing as opposed to the one serviced, there was less owed to the other person that way, not to mention that most people would probably rather rip his dick off than use it to give him any iota of pleasure. But then Mizuki had always been different, shaking fingers knotting into his hair but not as hard as he felt they should be, because somehow he didn't want to assert his control now, Mizuki was taking over, dominating him, and that was fine. The solid, well-reasoned excuse in the back of his head was that it was, or could be, his birthday, and hey, if Mizuki wanted to treat him why would he complain? It wasn't like the bartender wouldn't get his fun later, and in fact for Sly to get what he wanted there was no way that the other would end up unsatisfied, already feeling arousal burning like molten steel in his bones and wanting nothing else in that second but Mizuki's dick inside him.

But that could wait, because the tattooist had begun hollowing out his cheeks as he bobbed his head on and off the engorged flesh in his mouth, flattening his tongue against the shaft and laving over the tip whenever he reached the top. His hand was working firmly and so damn perfect that it was almost like he'd been practicing, twisting as it moved up and down and grip just firm enough, almost useless as he swallowed him down nearly to his hilt without so much as a gag.

How long had it been since he began, five minutes, ten? However long it seemed to have lasted only a second when Sly felt his stomach begin to tighten and his moans and pants became more guttural and he knew he had to push Mizuki off or risk coming right there. But somehow his brain was short circuiting and he didn't even think he wanted to move away, his entire body was tense with anticipation of his upcoming orgasm and if Mizuki hadn't pulled away in the second he reached the crest, he knew he sure as hell wouldn't have dreamed of stopping him. He found it worryingly hard to hold in the whine of loss he felt the second the bartender stopped his amazing ministrations to his desperate flesh, feeling bereft of his orgasm even as he vaguely registered the bartender groping around for lube in the coffee table drawer. How he managed to process speech he had no idea, he felt wrecked and he knew it was more than the illegal substances in his body that caused it, just shaking his head as the other lubed up his fingers.

"I already did it," he panted, horrified and amazed at how hugely exhausted he sounded, because to be so tired from a simple blow job was not something he'd expected when he came there tonight, just managing a smirk as Mizuki blinked in surprise.

"Damn that's hot," his voice was breathy even as he refused to take his words as gospel, sliding in two fingers at once and then rapidly a third as he realised he was telling the truth, electrified breath puffing over his chest in a laugh. "Well shit."

He just hummed appreciatively, amused at how incredibly pleased and surprised Mizuki was, taking control at least a little as he reached between them to grab his as yet untouched dick, rubbing the beads of precome from the tip over the hard length and guiding him to his ass because he couldn't bear to wait another second.

The bartender was bigger than him in lots of ways, and he'd never complain about a single one of them, he liked the feeling of being trapped by his muscled arms and his firm chest, liked how big and powerful his hands were, but he'd never thought it would pose a problem. The sofa was narrow, and he'd known that, they both did in fact, having started fucking on it more than once only to transfer onto the floor or coffee table due to lack of space, in fact normally just a position change fixed it so they could remain there. But Sly wanted Mizuki on top of him, bearing down and using him like a doll, wanted to see his expression as he fucked him, to watch sweat trickle down his abs and lick it away with his pointed pink tongue.

Groaning as he fucked into him hard and settled himself deep inside him, warmth and pressure surrounding him and taking a second to just breathe out a shaky breath before he tried to move. Key word being tried, Sly's legs were as small as the rest of him, and had Mizuki's trunk not been so thick and muscled, they might have managed okay, but they both realised after only a few minutes of clumsy and unsatisfying movements, that they were just too wide to fit. The sofa back meant Sly couldn't spread his legs quite wide enough for the bartender to fit between them and their legs were rubbing together dryly and almost painfully, Sly just growling low in his throat at how fucking annoying this was.

"Shit, this isn't working… Floor?" Mizuki asked, clearly not caring where they fucked now as long as they got to, dick already missing the heat of Sly's body even as the other shook his head.

"Friction burns," he didn't exactly mind pain when they had sex, and that was obvious in the trail of bruises blossoming down his front, but that kind of burning feeling would only detract from the sensation of Mizuki fucking into him hard, and he didn't want to miss a single second of that sensory overload.

"Bed?" He suggested, and it was obvious he was reluctant even to suggest it, just watching as Sly's eyes narrowed for a second, like this was some horrible trick he was being involved in, sighing and scowling at the sofa back that had ruined their fun.

"Fine," his answer was short and he still wasn't entirely happy with this, because every time he'd ended up in the bartenders bed so far had begun up with some kind of regrettable act on his part, and he didn't want to regret this fuck one bit, but still, he supposed it was the most logical option. He already knew Mizuki's plan even before he picked him up, wrapping his legs around his waist and sucking at the hollow of his throat where sweat pooled as he walked the short distance to his room, shoving blankets and clothes out of the way and all but dropping him onto the bed. He didn't waste a single second in getting back to where they were before, slotting himself between Sly's legs easily and pressing in with a snap of his hips that not only made Sly curse, loudly, but also his back arch off the bed.

Normally he started off a little slow and relied on Sly's less than gentle encouragements to speed the fuck up and actually do his job, but now he was fucking into him so hard his head was sliding back and forwards over the sheets and it was all he could do to cling onto his shoulders and groan low and guttural. He couldn't even keep up with his pace and fuck himself onto him, just submitting to him like he never did to anyone and almost afraid to admit that he really liked being vulnerable like this.

Sweat dripped between their flushed bodies and Mizuki's back was tense and coiled with rippling muscles that moved fluidly as he shifted his hands to hold Sly's hips in place, fucking him off his dick over and over. Sly was never exactly quiet, but he'd never been this loud before either, moaning and whimpering and completely unable to control himself as Mizuki just overwhelmed him, fingers digging into his skin. It was intimidating, and Sly wasn't somebody who was easy to intimidate, but the sudden waves of power that were coming from the bartender were enough to make his breath catch in his throat and him to feel afraid even if it only just bubbled beneath the surface.

How he managed it, Sly had no idea, but suddenly his legs were yanked up and his arms lost their grip around Mizuki's neck, upper body falling to rest on already sweat-soaked sheets and thighs hoisted up onto his shoulders. He was even deeper inside him now, each powerful thrust hitting his prostate and bundle of nerves sending waves of pleasure through his entire body, something in Mizuki's almost animal grunts making a chill run down his spine even as the room got hotter. He was certain he'd never been this uninvolved in their fucking, but there wasn't much he could do but lie there and let Mizuki use him as he saw fit, and he certainly wasn't complaining, fingers knotting into the sheets beside his head and whimpering when Mizuki slowed down deliberately so he could feel every inch.

"Mizuki, please," he manged to pant, voice so desperate and cracking on the last word, so needy, wanting more when the bartender was already giving him his all, just sucking in an almost breathy laugh as the other grinned darkly, reaching for his obscenely leaking dick. He felt almost light headed, the room was red hot and there was sweat sticking his hair to his skin, sheets rumpling and creasing as his back slid across them over and over, hand firm on his dick and squeezing at the base so he groaned.

"Okay?" How he had it in him to be fucking him so savagely like this but to still check on his wellbeing, Sly had no idea, just managing a nod and a breathless agreement, eyes closing against the pleasure and mouth parted, face twisted in satisfaction.

"Yeah, oh fuck yeah," god he was more than okay, he was on cloud fucking nine and he wasn't sure if he ever wanted to come down even as he knew he was going to cum soon, feeling his gut clench tight and his ass tense around Mizuki, choking on a moan and toes curling. His voice growing almost high pitched and whining in the second before Mizuki gasped and felt Sly come unravelled under him, Sly coming all over his hand and his back arching up so high he could count every rib, final cry of pleasure almost a sob as Mizuki dropped his head down onto his shoulder. Fucking him hard and fast even as he whimpered because he was too sensitive now and it almost hurt, gripping onto his back hard now and legs locked behind him, breath catching as he came inside him, warm and thick, groaning his orgasm right into his ear and thrusting into him slowly, milking himself dry and panting into his skin.

He told himself he was just too exhausted to complain when Mizuki nuzzled into his shoulder almost affectionately before pulling out and collapsing atop him, and the bartender had just given him an amazing orgasm, so he ignored the kiss he planted on his chest as he tried to catch his breath.

"Yo-You," he was alarmed to find that it was hard to speak, voice croaky and throat horribly dry from moaning so damn much, just trying to calm his heaving chest and feeling the solid weight on Mizuki atop him, every single defined muscle pressed against his skin. "You need to always fuck me like that."

He just laughed, low and amused into Sly's ear, and if it made the other smile, neither mentioned it, just recovering in a messy tangle of limbs that was only allowed because Sly said so, or would do if he could speak anyway, only allowing them a moment to recover before his eyes were gleaming and the bartender was shifting sweaty burgundy locks off his face with an amused chuckle.

* * *

He could barely remember how many times they'd fucked, or how many orgasms he'd had, doggy style, missionary, cowgirl, bent over the bed, on the floor when they accidentally tumbled off, they'd done it all and more, Sly's body was exhausted and Mizuki was spent. Telling himself he needed to leave now, to limp home with shaking legs and collapse onto his mattress to sleep for a week and have Mizuki scented dreams. But oh he was so tired, and the bed was so comfortable even if it was a little damp, bartender seemingly having drifted off a while ago, eyes closed and breath coming even and deep as he lay beside him, arm unintentionally flung over his middle where he'd landed after their final fuck of the evening. Not that it was evening any more, it was morning now, light starting to creep into the room through the high window and sounds of people getting about their lives beginning to fill the island. He couldn't risk leaving now, or that's what he told himself as he shut his eyes and felt sleep claim him, thinking absently in the moment before sleep overcame him, that this was without a doubt, the best birthday he'd ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr @ minky-way  
> Fic art here- http://cardboardchoochoo.tumblr.com/post/136017688540/inspired-by-a-fanfic-written-by-minky-way-u


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a playlist for this fic! it's [here](http://8tracks.com/minky-way/intruded)  
> (also its my first one so it might not be awesome but i tried)

“Hey, Dry Juice,” he wasn’t exactly shouting but Mizuki heard him over the hubbub of the assembled group anyway, interrupting Tio’s sentence detailing the next plan to expand their territory right as he reached the crucial step, blue eyes narrowing then just waving a hand absently to say it didn’t matter and stalking away to talk to the others. His eyes tracked Tio’s obviously pissed off journey for a moment, sighing deeply to himself even as he turned round and his eyes met the pest he knew it would be the second he’d heard him speak.

“What?” He asked coldly, but something in his expression was definitely not as hard as he sounded and Sly knew it, smirking smugly and just moving nearer like he had permission to approach, jumping off the balcony he’d been hanging from rather like a monkey and landing neatly a few steps away. He could almost anticipate the ripple of annoyance that would trickle through his team the moment they saw him, literally feeling a wave of anger hitting his back as someone other than Tio noticed and the murmuring began.

“Nothing, just though I’d say hi to my favourite team,” his smile might seem genuine to anyone who didn’t know him, but Mizuki could see the daggers that lay just behind the pretty shine of his eyes, fingers on his cigarette seeming casual but ready to strike the moment somebody so much as made a comment he didn’t like.

“You’ve done that, now fuck off.” He could hear mumbles of assent from behind him and knew that all he’d have to do was click his fingers and he could give Sly the beating of his life without even having to touch him, but of course he wouldn’t do that.

“Don’t want to, thanks,” he remarked casually, tapping ash off his cigarette, the same pack Mizuki had slipped into his bag on his birthday only a few days ago, he recognised the brand, bruises on his neck fading and scratches scabbed over but still visible. Mizuki wondered absently how he had reacted to the things he had shoved in his bag in the time he was showering, saying it was only because he was more fucked up than ever and that it wouldn’t be happening again, Mizuki believed him.

He wasn’t even sure he could remember what it had all been now, two packs of cigarettes, a bottle of vodka, he was sure he’d put some money in there too, some foodstuffs that would last, cookies, potato crisps and a pack of beef jerky. He’d gifted him a hoodie too, warm and black, one he never wore because it was a little small on him, now given away to somebody else and sure to not be recognised by any of his team members. He was sure he would have been angry at first, then he might have decided he didn’t much care and just taken advantage, not wearing the hoodie today, though Mizuki was sure he’d see him in it soon enough and have to pretend like he didn’t recognise it.

“Why’s that then?” He enquired, pretending to be annoyed when really he was quite amused, because Sly having the nerve to approach him like this on the street was a little exciting, like they were flaunting this in front of everyone and the sense of danger made his blood run hot. He crossed his arms across his chest and noticed the quick flash of interest that crossed Sly’s face, feeling his team press in close behind him and on both sides and figuring he probably looked a little intimidating, not that he could ever scare Sly.

He just smirked wide and almost warm, eyes calculating and pose tensed like a snake, giving Mizuki a quick up and down and admitting to himself how damn good he looked like this, being a powerful Rib leader surrounded by his team. There was a dangerous, almost threatening aura around him like this, the kind of person you wouldn’t mess with unless you wanted trouble, and knowing that he had him all to himself was too delicious to not appreciate it. His muscled arms were crossed over his toned chest and the tattoo that wrapped around his neck was marred with speckles of bruises and nail marks, ones he had left himself with tooth and claw.

He was utterly tempting like this, far too desirable even from afar for Sly to resist swooping down from his rooftop perch if only for the opportunity to flirt with him and see him try to resist the urge to respond, to tease him until he was left thinking about nothing but him for the rest of the day.

“I’m bored, and you and your little team are entertaining,” Mizuki knew what he meant, of course he did, he wasn’t stupid, he was in need of entertainment and when he spotted Dry Juice hadn’t hesitated to appear and ruin their good moods, loving nothing more than pissing people off. Not only that but by demeaning his team it was sure to make them hate him more, and the more they hated him the more he’d enjoy the fact that he was fucking their leader, forbidden fruit and all that.

“Is that so?”

“Hm, it’s funny really, seeing you walking around like you’re actually important.” He paused to laugh but it wasn’t nice, it was low and mocking and cruel, Mizuki couldn’t even compare it to the tinkling peal of the other day, it was as if he had a split personality. “Must be nice, pretending like you’re so perfect.”

He knew the anger behind him was rising and he was just waiting to see who would snap first, his money was on Kouhaku, but to his surprise as well as everyone else’s, and Sly’s too based on his raised eyebrow, though he didn’t even flinch, Tio was the one who spoke up, suddenly at Mizuki’s side.

“Why don’t you fuck off? None of us want anything to do with you, especially Mizuki. We don’t associate with scum,” none of them had ever heard him like this before, usually warm, friendly voice turned into a cruel, biting scowl, spitting out his words and face twisted into an ugly mask. Mizuki and Sly were the only ones who knew the reason for his anger, the rest of the team shifting uncomfortably as Tio finished and they waited for their leader to respond, confused at his irrational anger and sudden urge to protect Mizuki.

“Tio,” his voice was a sharp bark, warning him to back off even as he stretched out an arm to stop his movement forwards, shooting him a look of equal parts disappointment and confusion, because they had discussed this a million times now, that he had helped Sly out once. But Tio almost sounded jealous and something in his chest settled uneasily even as he waited for Sly to jab back, knowing that when he did even his orders might not hold Tio back from beating seven grades of shit out of him.

He just paused, rolling his eyes as if they were boring him, actually having the nerve to fake a yawn behind his hand and making a noise of utter disdain, like he wasn’t enjoying having his time wasted even though he’d been the one to pester them. “Nice lapdog you’ve got there, Mizuki. Control your bitch, would you? His barking is hurting my ears,” if anybody else had pulled the same face he would have called it bitchy, like a girl being catty to somebody she hated, head moving as he emphasised his words and shot Tio a look like he was pathetic, although even Mizuki had to agree that he was being a little unreasonable, it was almost embarrassing.

More than one growl of disapproval sounded from behind him, and as expected Tio stepped forwards again, only stopping when Mizuki grabbed his wrist firmly and yanked him back so hard he almost tripped. “Shut the fuck up and get out of our sight, Sly, we don’t want anything to do with you.”

His smirk grew exponentially and Mizuki knew even before he spoke that he was going to say something damaging, steeling himself for whatever it was and feeling Tio yank himself free from his grip with a scoff. “If you say so, Mizuki. But I do so enjoy our chats.” He stepped closer again, stare enticing to nobody but Mizuki who had seen it so many times before in the comfort of his apartment or in the bar where his team had been not an hour ago. “If you ever want some fun, you know how to find me. I’ll even give you a discount.”

He almost laughed at that, because he had no idea how to find Sly and they both knew it, but his words had the right effect on his team, more people than Tio surging forwards now and him powerless to stop it, not even bothering because he knew Sly could climb out of danger in seconds. Just offering Sly a grin when he was sure nobody could see, knowing they were waiting for his command to either leave him or to actually be allowed to beat him up for once, eyes focused on Sly’s as if to give him warning he wouldn’t need. “Sure, but I recommend you start running unless you want to lose your ability to walk.”

That was all the permission they needed, at least five of them rushing forwards with every intention of beating him into unconsciousness or worse, feeling a slight sense of disappointment as Tio was among them. But of course Sly had a head start, just throwing Mizuki a quick wink in the second before he nimbly jumped up onto a signpost, pulling himself up with strength the bartender didn’t imagine he had, crouching there for a moment to allow the others the thought that they might get him. Just laughing as he carefully stood on the thin metal and jumped onto the guttering of be next building, climbing up onto it and offering a casual, smug wave to his infuriated team. “Better luck next time, Dry Juice.”

 

* * *

 

 

General pestering aside, Sly had realised early on who the best people to focus on were, the bartender himself would reward him with general anger from the rest of the team, but annoying his black haired friend, well that was a whole new kind of fun and he couldn’t wait to test it out. So when he saw him, uncharacteristically alone, walking back from something Sly couldn’t give less of a fuck about, he knew this was his moment to shine, or whatever people called this kind of thing. Exiting the warehouse he’d been lingering in, not his own and a damn sight too close to Dry Juice’s territory for him to ever even consider the move despite the fact it had a roof that didn’t seem to leak and most of its windows were intact.

His first move was to stop in his tracks, his second to narrow his eyes and glare, though it wasn’t exactly the strongest look of dislike he’d ever received and he could easily ignore it, just taking a moment to observe him properly. Fairly pale but not to such an extent as he was, jet black hair almost wavy and in small flicky curls that anybody else might have found cute, sea-blue eyes and a pair of single, dark blue studs in his ears. He was remarkably normal looking, slim but obviously still toned under his long sleeve shirt and defined calves clear under his cropped jeans, something he’d never quite understood himself, taking a second to question how he was meant to fight in such flimsy canvas footwear.

“What’s your name?”

“Why would I tell you?” he didn’t seem surprised by the question, or the demand more like, but he supposed he’d pestered him and his team enough that maybe they wouldn’t be phased by anything, the idea was a little irritating, just quickly calculating what would work with him. His posture spoke of being uncomfortable more than aggressive, and there was the faintest hint of curiosity in his narrowed eyes, hands fidgeting nervously at his sides.

“Because it’s polite.”

Manners were not something he gave a fuck about, he thought they were unnecessary and wasted valuable time, but he had the feeling that this guy, like the rest of Dry Juice, would enjoy them far too much, just fighting to hide his smirk as black eyebrows twitched in surprise.

He seemed to fight with himself for a moment, lip twisting to the side and sighing reluctantly in the second he spoke, “Tio.”

“Tio,” he repeated, nodding slowly, as if appraising him carefully when really he was just surprised at how much he suddenly reminded him of Mizuki, not scared of him but somehow managing to not hate him either, he seemingly held no desire to speak to him, yet wasn’t running either. It was very curious and he was fascinated. “Surprised you’re not with Mizuki since you’re basically his lap dog.”

Now he was bristling, but still only a little, and already Sly had pin-pointed his weak spot, the bartender was clearly an issue he felt very strongly about and he wasn’t hiding it well, face hardening as much as it could, which admittedly wasn’t a lot. “I’m not always with him.”

“Yeah bullshit,” he didn’t even pause, speaking the words the moment he knew he was going to object because damn he was in denial, softening his voice to an unnaturally pleasant tone and leaning in almost conspiringly, his vehemence his downfall. “You don’t have to lie to me, I’d get in his pants if I could too.”

“I’m not trying to do that,” his expression was a little angry now and Sly was all too fascinated to see how the emotion twisted his features, jaw set hard and impressive cheekbones defined by the hard movements of his lips as he spoke. But it was his eyes that gave him away, they were worried, almost a little scared, swimming with vulnerability and panic and it was so obvious that Sly had hit the nail on the head that he grinned wide and placed a fake-soothing hand on his shoulder. It was shoved off instantly off course, well, not even shoved, more like he moved away from the touch, not grabbing his wrist hard and pushing him away or grimacing at the spot where they’d made contact, just moving away warily, like he was a wild animal. Very like Mizuki, just… more nervous, more prone to anxiety and stress, he was working him out like a jigsaw puzzle, picking out pieces of his personality and fitting them together to make a rough but probably accurate picture of who he was. “And he won’t go anywhere near you.”

The change of topic was easy enough, because he had all the leverage here and he knew that Tio was too polite to just walk away while he was talking, or too afraid, but then maybe he just wanted to know what an outsider thought of him, good or bad. “You know, he never lets you guys beat me up, why do you think that is?”

“Because he’s nice, even to assholes like you who don’t deserve it.” If this was his attempt at a hard jab then it was pretty weak, Sly not even blinking as he spoke, because yes he was an asshole, and no he certainly didn’t deserve Mizuki’s kindness, it was almost nice that there was something they agreed on.

“You’re pretty quick to defend him, still saying you’re not his bitch? Because I don’t believe it.”

“There’s a difference between being someone’s bitch and being their friend, but you wouldn’t know about that.” He looked a little spiteful now, hurt fading to be replaced by indignation and annoyance because Sly was taking up his valuable time and he was starting to get sick of it, regretting not telling him to fuck off immediately.

“True,” he smiled, inclining his head to the side thoughtfully and watching as Tio’s expression faltered, pretty good comeback being crushed to dust with a single word of agreement, because anything nasty he could say about Sly, he’d undoubtedly agree with. “But then, Mizuki isn’t exactly your friend either, is he? He’s more like… your boss, somebody to look up to and adore. I suppose you don’t even know half of what he gets up to. Does it hurt? Knowing he has a life that doesn’t revolve around you?”

“What are you trying to say?” His voice was genuinely curious and Sly knew he had him hooked, hiding a pleased grin and just shrugging, building the mystery and regarding the man who still, even after being mocked this much, stood in front of him listening to his bile.

“That maybe your beloved leader isn’t as perfect as you think. You don’t even know who he’s been fucking, do you?”

“How do-“

“How do I know? Oh please, those bites aren’t exactly subtle.” He interrupted him the moment he spoke because he was so damn predictable that he was almost dull to torment like this, he could already anticipate his remark when he next spoke, voice twisting nastily. “So, who is the little whore sleeping with?”

“Don’t call him a whore.” Face hard, eyes cold, stance suddenly defensive and oh yes Mizuki was definitely his weak point, he was painfully infatuated and he wondered how the fuck the bartender had managed not to notice.

“You are _obsessed_ , what are you, in love with him or something?” He spoke it like a joke, laughing a little cruelly and trying to make it seem like playful, harmless banter even as he studied his face for a single change in emotion, the slightest flicker of guilt.

He didn’t reply but his nostrils flaring was enough, Sly’s eyes lighting up with pleasure because _yes_ , this was what he’d been hoping for all along and this he could work with, could torment Tio with until he snapped, and he honestly didn’t know what form that would take. He seemed like the crying type, so maybe he’d just tell him to fuck off then go home to cry like a girl, or maybe he’d throw one punch then run, he didn’t seem like he’d beat him half to death. But maybe he would, it was a gamble he was all too willing to take, smirk wide and smug and a little mocking.

“Oh, you are! Is that why you don’t like me talking to your precious leader, scared he’ll stray?”

“You know nothing about me,” he was angry, hurt, scared, all of those emotions at once and more, not sure how to school his face, alternating between angry and about to punch, to showing some kind of honest pain like that was exactly what scared him.

“Keep telling yourself that. But it must hurt so much to know he’s fucking someone else, especially since he knows how you feel, being rejected like that must really suck, hm?”

“Shut the fuck up,” yep, he’d definitely opened a raw nerve, wondering how far he could push it before he got the punch he’d been aiming for the entire time, wanting to see how long it would take him to break, sure he’d been able to nearly see it the other day, but breaking a man alone was different to in a group. He was nearly growling and as his anger grew Sly realised he was a lot weaker than he might seem, wondering how Mizuki could call his team strong when it had members like this guy who snapped from a bit of teasing.

“Don’t think I will, thanks. Bit pathetic, don’t you think, being in love with your best friend. Pitiful actually, how-“

“Hey! Leave him alone asshole,” he hadn’t even noticed him approaching until he spoke, the newest member of the team, he couldn’t even remember his name but Sly looked so unimpressed at his intrusion that he just rolled his eyes.

“Ugh, whatever. He’d rather fuck me than you anyway,” he wasn’t sure if Tio actually knew, but he had the feeling that his dislike of him would make the comment the perfect way to shatter his obviously already fragile heart, seeing his nostrils flare and knowing he’d done it even as he laughed and turned to leave, knowing he was too stunned to try anything.

He just watched him leave with his hands clenched into fists at his side and his throat alarmingly thick like he might cry because Sly _had_ to be wrong but part of him wondered if maybe that was true, if Mizuki really would rather fuck Sly than him, or anyone for that matter, because it sure seemed that way lately. Then he turned and registered the presence next to him, his kind of saviour although he didn’t appreciate his help at all, hot with shame that he’d heard what Sly had been saying even if he didn’t believe it.

“You okay?” He’d asked, and his voice was low and worried, hand gentle on his arm and eyes crinkled in concern, but he couldn’t stand him being so understanding, being so nice to him when he’d just heard all of that and had to be judging him, _pitying_ him, under all his false concern.

“I’m not in love with him!” He snapped and it was so unnecessary, because nobody had asked and his denial just made it so obvious that he was even if his reaction to Sly hadn’t been enough.

He just frowned for a second, replacing his hand where it had been shaken off and keeping his voice soft, “I never said you were. And… Even if you are, it’s none of my business. Sly’s a piece of shit, he always knows what to say but you can’t let him get to you.”

“Yeah well it’s a bit fucking late for that isn’t it?” His voice was angry and he registered that even as he knew the other didn’t deserve to be yelled at, trying to calm himself down but knowing the minute the anger left that all he’d have would be the hurt and he couldn’t let that out right now. He’d been weak enough already and he hated himself for it, because if he could close his heart off he would straight away, he’d shut Mizuki out of it and be as cold as Sly if he needed to, but that wasn’t how it worked and his eyes were hot.

He didn’t know what to say, that was obvious, Tio only mildly aware that the other was rubbing circles into his bicep soothingly, too busy feeling awful and ashamed that somebody had witnessed that, knew what Sly had been saying and would undoubtedly believe it. He didn’t want anybody knowing, especially not anybody who hadn’t known what was going on at the time, he didn’t want them to think he just had some stupid crush based on admiration or whatever.

More than feeling embarrassed, he was angry, at Mizuki for having left him with these feelings that had never died and for making the effort to stay friends when that only kept them strong and present, almost wished he’d pushed him away so he could recover and get over him. But then he was angry at himself too, for not being able to stop loving Mizuki and for letting Sly get to him so damn easily, for being weak and stupid and obsessed with somebody he could never have.

“You know… He’s wrong,” Tio glanced up at that, taking in blue eyes that almost matched his own, a shade icier though, like a winters frost, wishing he could remember his name and waiting for him to speak, noticing he looked as uncomfortable as he felt. “If there was a list of people Mizuki could choose to fuck, no, anyone could choose, you’d be pretty near the top. And Sly? Well he wouldn’t even get an entry.”

It was so funny, so bizarre and so almost inappropriate that he laughed, breathy and confused because what the fuck was that meant to be, a way to comfort him? But he supposed it had worked, noticing the others cheeks were a little pink with the awkwardness of this situation, gathering himself and shaking his head to wipe away the shit Sly had said, trying to smile.

“Er, yeah sure.” He wasn’t entirely sure what a normal response to that would be, just managing a raised eyebrow and a confused if not mildly flattered smile, because that was without a doubt the oddest compliment he’d ever been paid. “Thanks by the way, but sorry, I can’t even remember your name.”

“It’s cool, I’m new so I wouldn’t expect you to. It’s Kin. You’re Tio, right?”

“Mm,” he didn’t feel much like talking, his hands were shaking and he was painfully aware of the others eyes on him as he tried to school his expression, sniffing against the angry, burning tears that he’d barely managed to blink away.

“You heading home?” He didn’t wait for him to nod, just continuing to speak. “I’m going that way too so I’ll walk with you, knowing that asshole he’ll come back for another round.”

“Oh, um, yeah sure, yeah,” he didn’t know what to say, not even registering the fact that Kin seemed to know where he lived, or the rough area anyway, just falling silent as they carried on their journey, feeling his heart burn in his chest and shame flood him.

“Mizuki’s training me up in the bar this weekend,” but then he spoke, a normal, reassuring, grounding sentence, and he looked up from the floor, ashamed at how much his eyes were watering but the other not even commenting or looking his way, just listening to him sniff.

His voice was a little more normal as he spoke, because this conversation was so plain and simple, so boring and empty of potential danger that it was exactly what he’d needed, managing a shaky, “yeah?” And just letting the other lead them in casual chat about the team and the bar and all sorts of things, making it home feeling a little better and able to offer a genuine smile as he waved goodbye, shutting the door behind him and sighing long and loud because fuck, Sly sure was one huge piece of shit.

 

* * *

 

 

If there was one thing that Sly was guilty of, it was not learning his lesson the first time, so when he saw Tio alone again his lip twitched into a smirk by itself and he couldn’t help but carefully climb down from the fire escape he’d been perched on, ending up, foolishly, at exactly the right height for a swift punch in the face. Which is exactly what he received the second the words, ‘lover boy,’ left his lips, force of it sending him sprawling with blood escaping from his lip and his eye already throbbing. The other hadn’t even looked angry and that fascinated him even as he made his way back onto his feet and watched Tio walk away calmly, as if he hadn’t just snapped and punched him so hard he could see blood on his knuckles. He was fascinating, an enigma if ever he’d met one and he was determined to push him more, further, to really get him to snap, because after all, one punch was little repayment for all the nasty shit he’d said.

But still, Tio was heading in the direction of the bar and he choked on a snort as he knocked on the door only for it to be opened by Mizuki who expressed clear alarm at the state of his knuckles before ushering him inside. He was pathetic, they both were, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Mizuki even knew how Tio felt, but either way he was determined to find out.

 

* * *

 

“I think Kin likes you,” he remarked casually, though there was nothing casual about it because he’d been wondering how to bring it up for a while now, thinking this was the perfect time and seizing the opportunity the moment he realised. His hands were careful where they wound bandages round his bloodied knuckles, wondering just how hard he’d punched Sly and if he’d hit a tooth accidentally, because this was a lot of damage for one punch.

“Really?” His look of confusion was almost funny enough that Mizuki laughed, but he felt a little sad instead, because why did he look so shocked at the idea that somebody might actually like him? Low self-confidence wasn’t something he’d ever say Tio suffered from, but it seemed like maybe he was just mistaken. “Hm, he did save me from Sly the other day.”

He frowned immediately, because that sounded like he’d had two run ins with Sly, one before the incident of today where he’d apparently punched him, “saved you?”

“Yeah. He was just being a dick. He told him to fuck off for me.” His answer was too short and clipped, Mizuki’s eyes narrowing because he was missing out something crucial here and he knew it, well aware of the issue that Sly would most likely use when tormenting Tio.

“You didn’t do that yourself?” Tio didn’t answer but his back was tense where he leaned over the new piercing supplies to his left, examining the belly rings with too much fascination for it to look anything but fake, not supplying any sign as to why he had needed help. Mizuki just secured the bandages and began packing away the first aid kit, eyes averted from him because they were both pretending to be casual about this when it was nothing but. “What was he being a dick about?”

“Um, you, actually,” his words were stilted and hesitant and Mizuki made a mental note to instil once more into Sly that he needed to stay the fuck away from Tio, and not just in case he found out, he didn’t want his friends feelings hurt any more than they must have been already.

“Oh really? Yeah, he does seem to have a bit of an obsession with me…” he tried to pretend like that idea disturbed him, hoping it would be at least a little believable and assuming it had been as Tio just inclined his head to the side and finally turned around. “What was he saying?”

“Just dumb shit, um, called me an ass licker and stuff, the usual.”

Mizuki snorted at that, very much amused by the choice of words Sly had used, “well I’m not into that, so he’s wrong there at least. What else?”

“Bitch, lap dog. You know, that kinda thing,” he was embarrassed to admit it, even more so now it was obvious that it had bothered him being called that, painfully throbbing knuckles proof enough of that, sending him snapping into violence when usually he’d try and be reasonable.

“You corrected him, I assume?”

“He didn’t give me much chance, that’s why Kin had to step in,” that sounded exactly like Sly, he never gave you a chance to argue your corner, too clever and sneaky to give you any chance to end whatever barrage of assault he’d begun upon his unwilling victim. It was as if he’d heard his name, Tio’s eyes scanning the assembled group, about four or five members all sat round one table, playing some kind of drinking game but with no intention of actually getting drunk, just relaxing and hanging out. But the second his gaze moved over to Kin, their eyes met, the other offering a small smile and not seeming phased at having been caught looking, just turning back to the game as somebody nudged him. Tio frowned, more a slight crease of his eyebrows than anything, pondering Mizuki’s words, ‘Kin likes you.’ But no, even if he had before the incident with Sly, he certainly wouldn’t now, not now he knew he was hopelessly in love with somebody else, nobody could be stupid enough to put their interests into somebody so close to being impossible to get.

“Yeah well, he’s an asshole, just ignore him.” Easier said than done, and they both knew that, but he handed Tio a beer anyway and opened it for him a second later as he realised his hand was swelling up and becoming difficult to use. “What did he say today that made you punch him?”

His hands faltered on his beer and he almost dropped it, olive eyes a little narrower as they regarded him now, knowing he was hiding something about the whole incident, something he was obviously ashamed of as his cheeks grew a little hot. “Just asked if I’d seen you.”

“Just that? Just asked if you’d seen me?”

“He… He called you lover boy.”

“Lover boy? Why the fuck would he call me that?” It was condescending and a little embarrassing, in fact even somebody in a relationship would probably object to their partner being called something so demeaning, so he supposed it kinda made sense. But then he and Tio were just friends, and it was just like Sly to use such a dumbass nickname, so why had it made him angry enough to punch? Unless he was still full of built up tension from the last time and was so done with his shit that he could have politely said good morning and he still would have punched him out?

He shrugged and Mizuki could see the tension in his movements, knowing they were getting down to the actual reason he’d grown violent now, focusing olive eyes on him and noticing that he refused to meet his eye, peeling the label off his beer in nervous, absent movements. He tried to laugh but it came out weak and fake, “he um,” he paused to puff out a disbelieving laugh that Mizuki didn’t believe for one second. “Thinks I’m in love with you.”

Oh. His hand stilled on his own bottle and he lowered it to his side absently, frowning because he knew Tio had been once, a while ago now, and he supposed that with how close they still were it might be easy enough for Sly to have read too far into it. But the issue with that was that he knew Sly didn’t make mistakes when he read people, and Tio wasn’t hard to read most of the time, he wore his heart on his sleeve and he grew increasingly panicked that maybe Tio’s feelings hadn’t changed one bit. But still he kept his voice low and neutral as he spoke, as if he was just asking about the weather or what shifts he was working that week, because he refused to make a big deal out of this.

“Is he wrong?”

But for what felt like the first time ever, Tio ignored him, the moment he finished speaking he stood from his stool, taking his beer with him and walking over to the group who seemed to have just finished one game, voice friendly enough as he asked to be dealt in, but shoulders tense and fingers noticeably stiff on his drink even as the next round began. His silence was enough admission for the bartender and he wasn’t exactly the type to ignore him in any other situation, so his sudden change in character, both in punching Sly and in blatantly walking away from him made it very obvious that nothing had changed in the four years since their arrangement had ended.

Even as Tio settled into his seat next to Kin, who seemed more than happy to have him squished into his side, it was obvious there was something unsaid between them, his eyes staying firmly locked onto the table even as Mizuki was invited to join and declined. He’d thought Tio’s feelings had died a long time ago, and now that he realised they hadn’t, his plan of maybe setting Tio up with Kin, who obviously liked him, seemed to be falling into impossibility.

 

* * *

 

 

“Tio?” He asked the minute he heard what sounded like keys in the door, trying to pretend he wasn’t actually disappointed when the blue that met him was hair instead of eyes, just ignoring the raised eyebrow directed his way and turning back to his pile of clean laundry. Tio had been avoiding him ever since he’d discovered he was still very much in love with him, and he was starting to get sick of it now, he just wanted them to be able to talk things through and sort something out. But of course he wouldn’t come and seek him out, he was ashamed and that was obvious, because he already knew how Mizuki felt, so why would he try and talk things out that they’d been over four years ago and sorted out, or sort of anyway.

“Expecting somebody, are you?”

“Not really,” he remarked calmly, because he already knew Sly knew, or he thought he did anyway, so he felt no reason to try and cement his beliefs when he couldn’t be 100% certain quite yet. Just beginning to ball up socks neatly and refilling the laundry basket with pleasant smelling clothes, at least two weeks’ worth because he’d gotten behind on household tasks and was only just catching up now.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he could hear the sound of a lighter and almost knew before he turned that Sly would have helped himself to one of his cigarettes and not being even remotely surprised to find he was correct.

“It’s alright, I’m used to it. So what happened to you?” His words weren’t as alarmed as they probably should have been, because Sly was damaged in some way most of the time, he was only mildly interested in how he’d explain his latest injury, not even bothering to stop folding the still warm jeans he was neatly piling up onto his dining table.

“Your friend punched me in the face,” Mizuki just frowned as he told the truth so easily and he rolled his eyes before elaborating, not even flinching as his black eye throbbed nastily. “Black hair, complete ass licker, worships the ground you walk on, probably has a shrine to you or something.”

“Tio.” The fact that he’d been able to guess that from his less than flattering description was a worry, but not as much as the still baffling fact that Tio had presumably been deliberately sought out by Sly and actually punched him hard enough to leave such an unpleasant bruise.

“Yeah, he really can’t take a joke, can he? God, all I did was suggest that he was obsessed with you and he snapped, completely unprovoked.”

“Oh I bet,” he remarked, not believing one word of it, but not surprised either that one well aimed comment could make him snap so badly he’d actually assault somebody, even if Sly did sometimes deserve it more than a little. “You didn’t fight back?”

“Nah, figured you might be reluctant to fuck me if I decked your friend.”

“Hm, that’s true. But he suspects something already, you should stay away from him.”

“Because it would affect me so badly if people found out,” his voice was sarcastic as he spoke, reclining in the dining chair so it balanced neatly on two legs and grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl, tossing it between his hands with no intention to eat it, fruit wasn’t his thing, stolen or otherwise. “What is he, in love with you or something?”

He didn’t respond but he knew the answer was obvious in the sudden tension of his face and the way his hands faltered on his mug, almost spilling coffee onto the surface of his table and his clean laundry, cursing himself because Sly’s face had lit up and he had that shit eating smirk he knew meant trouble.

“He _is_! Hm, Mizuki, heartbreaker, who would have thought it,” he was aware that Sly was mocking him, but he was so used to it by now that he didn’t really mind, just rolling his eyes because he was hardly a heartbreaker, at his last count he’d broken one heart and one heart only and he intended to keep it that way. “Damn bartender, I didn’t think you had it in you. What, did you guys fuck once or something? Or is it like idol worship, cause he seems like the type?”

“We had an arrangement,” he almost told him not to talk about Tio like that, but he knew revealing any weakness around him was a sure fire way to fuck things up so he kept his mouth shut, internally seething that he even knew about Tio’s feelings.

“Like us?” He enquired, raising an eyebrow as if to say that he had no doubt their arrangement would have been nothing like their own, just helping himself to another cigarette and holding his hand out expectantly for a lighter, just grinning as Mizuki handed it over silently.

He made a sort of laugh, involuntary and escaping from his lungs, because while it had been a little similar, he’d never dare to compare them even in his own head, in fact the only real similarity had been that they fucked, that was the only thing he could consider as being a link between the two separate arrangements. “Not exactly.”

“Because he liked you.” It was blunt, but then he always was so Mizuki didn’t comment on it, he was just stating a fact after all, not mocking him or anything, just saying it like it was, which was unusual in itself.

“Exactly, and you just use me for my body and my booze.” While he and Tio had their arrangement, there had been at least some attempt at making this into a real relationship, failed though it had ended up, at least they had tried even vainly. There had been other differences too, their arrangement had been equally controlled by both of them, more of a booty call than anything else, and the ability to contact each other at any time meant it had been a lot more regular and organised than Sly just turning up. They’d been able to see each other outside of it too, to go on rounds and bartend together and be friends even though they had this secret, or not so secret if Tio was to believed, relationship behind it all. If Tio hadn’t gotten feelings it would have been the perfect arrangement until either one of them wanted something proper, and if Mizuki had fallen for him too, it would have been even better, but that wasn’t how it worked and Sly was a good enough replacement he guessed. He wouldn’t risk getting into an arrangement with somebody else on the team, he didn’t want to break any more hearts, or his own, so fucking somebody he’d never fall for made perfect sense, the ideal crime.

“Mm, don’t sell yourself short,” Mizuki raised an eyebrow, abandoning the shirt he was trying to fold with little annoyance, knowing he’d have no chance to focus on finishing his chores now Sly had showed up, he needed too much attention and he was ashamed at how willing he was to give him it. “There’s the cigarettes too.”

“Oh of course, how stupid of me.” For a moment he’d almost thought Sly was going to genuinely compliment him and he was horribly worried at how much he’d wanted him to, but he supposed that was another difference between their arrangement and his and Tio’s, Sly didn’t compliment ever, but Tio had always been saying nice things, he still did even now.

“What, did you think I was actually going to say something nice?” He seemed more amused than offended at the idea, but of course knowing Sly he’d be offended under the outward chuckle, eyebrows crinkled as he regarded him, turning into a grin as he replied calmly.

“I don’t think you’re capable of nice.”

“And right you are. But I’m not here to be nice,” he shook his head and the tattooist thought for a moment that he was already starting things off between them, rather faster than he normally would and without any mention of alcohol or drugs whatsoever, very unlike himself and the way their arrangement worked. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh really, and what might that be?”

“You ever been to Grime?” It was almost like he’d changed the subject suddenly and Mizuki blinked absently, because if his proposition involved Grime then he had less than no interest in it whatsoever.

An instinctual grimace appeared on Mizuki's face as the infamous bar and club was mentioned, he'd never been there himself, but everybody heard the rumors. You were as likely to get spiked by the staff as by the customers, the alley round the back was filled with fucking couples and the toilets were a haven for drug dealers and addicts. If Mizuki thought of somewhere Sly would fit in perfectly, Grime was it. Though despite all he’d heard, he'd never heard of anyone getting banned before, seeing as it was known as a place where anything was okay and fights were expected.

“The club?” Where else he could possibly mean, Mizuki had no idea, but he wondered even as Sly asked if he realised the connotations of that question, that the mere idea that he might have been anywhere near the islands most notorious nightclub was almost offensive. He didn’t know much about it other than its reputation, but that alone was enough to keep him away, he knew it was where the scummier members of the island hung out, the low down Rhymers and Rib Teams who went too far for new territory.

“No, the country. Of course the fucking club. You been?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so, well they’re doing something tonight and since you never do anything with your sad little life I thought I’d take pity and invite you.” A piece of neatly folded paper was chucked over to him and he caught it easily, aware of appraising yellow eyes on him as he unfolded it, frowning as he took in the almost fancy font and the words scattered over it, almost not understanding.

“Incognito night? What’s that mean?”

“They do it every year, people wear masks and disguises or whatever. It’s usually pretty good, it’s easier to relax when nobody knows who you are.”

“And you’re inviting me?” He was surprised, because they didn’t do things together in general, sometimes Sly would pester him in the street and that was fine he supposed, but they were never seen together apart from that, they couldn’t be. Not to mention that inviting him on what sounded like a night out was something a fuck buddy wasn’t meant to do, they were meant to fuck and nothing else, not to spend time together in any state other than drunk, high or naked.

“Obviously. You’re tense as fuck, maybe you need to let your hair down for once and not be so paranoid about people judging you,” he could tell the bartender still wasn’t happy, just rolling his eyes with a grin and fishing something out of his back pocket, a length of fabric by the look of it, a little stiff and coloured red. “I even got you something to wear.”

“A mask? Not much of a disguise is it.” He tried not to sound ungrateful but he didn’t quite succeed, fingering the material and surprised to see it was actually quite soft, a simple ribbon tie at the back presumably meant to be secured behind his head.

He just snorted at that, lighting yet another cigarette and licking his lips pre-emptively, “see you’ve never been so you don’t get it. In Grime nobody gives a fuck who you are, what you’re doing or what you’re on. Most people get so fucked they barely know who they are, they won’t even notice you. But feel free to come up with something more concealing.”

“You’re talking like I already agreed.”

“Oh you’ll be there, I know you will, you’re painfully curious already.”

“I am, am I? And when did you become such an expert regarding me?” His tone was almost a little flirty and he wasn’t sure when that had happened, but it was pretty ironic given the fact that Sly seemed to be inviting him to the islands grubbiest nightclub for their yearly event where people seemingly went to hook up without worries. But then wasn’t hooking up what they did anyway?, so where they did it didn’t much matter, and the idea of Sly, damp with sweat and drunk under strobe lights was a _little_ tempting after all, maybe it wasn’t the worst idea.

“I’ve been fucking you for months, I’d like to think I know enough. But if you come fine, if you don’t I’m sure I can have plenty of fun anyway, my dealer’s gunna be there so I can get whatever and, well, masks offer more than anonymity. I’m sure I’ll be able to make plenty of money.” He was pretending at least a little that he wouldn’t mind if he didn’t go, but he’d already gone through lots of internal debate as to whether to ask him, and now he’d gone to the effort to bother, he better fucking go. Sure there’d be drugs, alcohol and customers aplenty, but they weren’t what he wanted, he wanted Mizuki in a dark corner or in a dirty toilet cubicle, fucking him somewhere he was finally comfortable and where he belonged. He wanted to drag the well-respected, highly esteem bartender into his grubby, underground world, to take him away from everything he knew and dump him somewhere he didn’t fit it and never would, wanted to watch him change to fit in. He knew it would only take a little persuasion, already certain he’d be there, hopefully arriving just after he got the drugs he’d need to get him to relax, because the last thing he wanted was for Mizuki to go and be a pain all night. No, a few little pills, maybe some coke or a couple hits on a blunt and he knew the bartender would do whatever he asked, pulse already speeding up as he imagined it.

“Well good for you,” he pretended he didn’t feel a little disgust and maybe even something akin to jealousy bubble up as Sly talked about making money in the only way he could, wondering whether he just felt this way because they were using him, or because he hated to see a friend, or quasi-friend at least, doing something like that. “So is that all you wanted?”

“Hm, for now. Why, were you expecting something else?” His lips had turned up pleasingly at the corners and Mizuki couldn’t help but smile back, because they both knew what was going on here and the lack of need for words was refreshing.

“Not really,” he shrugged even though they both knew he was lying, understanding each other subliminally anyway, or to an extent. “You tend to just show up, get what you want then leave.”

“Then I guess it’s time to leave, so I’ll see you later?”

“Maybe,” his tone was firm, because he had in no way agreed to anything yet, and something this risky needed lots of clear, precise thought, he couldn’t let Sly’s pretty smile or gleaming eyes convince him this time, he had to decide this himself.

“You say that, but we both know you’ll be there,” that was his parting shot, grinning over his shoulder and offering a wave, Mizuki noticing the blue packet of cigarettes in his hand and just rolling his eyes absently, offering a vague farewell and shutting the door behind him. Fingers trailing through the ribbon ties of the mask, because Grime, huh? Well, he supposed it might be an experience if nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr @ minky-way  
> Tio's sim design is here along with fic updates/art/other things of interest- [here](http://minky-way.tumblr.com/tagged/intravenous-series)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not uploading last week guys! My internet friend visited me from Lithuania so I couldn't write and I intended on having the chapter finished before she was here but it didn't work out, rest assured I'll be back to Wednesday uploads now though :D  
> Playlist for this chapter [here](http://8tracks.com/minky-way/grime)  
> 

He’d done it on purpose, he knew he had even as he found himself showering and preparing to go out, wondering just what the fuck people wore to a club like Grime and grimacing as he found himself thinking about far too much leather and latex. But then that kind of horribly clever reverse psychology was just like Sly, he’d show up with an offer he’d never accept, then trick him into doing just that and attending, dropping hints about him being with other people to, presumably, try and make him jealous. Just by showing up then disappearing he’d already begun to torment the bartender, because of course usually when he arrived uninvited it meant he was there for sex, so to suddenly announce that he wasn’t but bring some kind of other offer was irritatingly frustrating. So to have it basically implied that if he went he might get his fuck, Sly was already winning him over, not to mention that he was a painfully curious person, as the other had annoyingly noticed, he was curious about Grime, about how Sly spent his time away from him, what he did and with who and where. He wanted to know how the club got its reputation, and just for once he wanted the chance to go somewhere grungy and dangerous and maybe be able to let go and relax like Sly had said, to be with people who didn’t respect or revere him, he wanted to break free of their expectations for once, and Sly was the one person who made him feel able to do that.

His outfit, after going through several things and deeming a shirt probably far too formal, ended up being remarkably casual and excessively normal, just a pair of black jeans, fairly skinny fitting and teamed with chunky-soled red vans, but it was the top that had caused him trouble. A polo shirt was somehow too dressy as well, so he ended up debating for a good ten minutes between a plain t-shirt and a vest, eventually deciding that it would probably be hot in there and grabbing the same dark red, deeply-slit collared vest he’d been wearing on his jog with Tio a few days ago, remembering how his blue eyes had been unable to keep away from it. That was probably an awful reason to choose it, but he guessed if Grime really was the kind of place he thought, that maybe he’d still be the most reasonably dressed person in there, yanking on his coil and a couple of brown woven leather bracelets and deeming himself ready to go.

 

He paused for a moment in his bathroom, finishing his vodka and coke, the final of three he’d already drank while getting ready, one glass left in the shower enclosure and the other in his bedroom where he’d been pondering his outfit for a good half hour, bed still scattered with potential choices. The liquid burnt a little as it slipped down, warming his stomach and making him cringe, because he’d started drinking Sly’s style of drink now, too much alcohol and not enough mixer, figuring he’d need it tonight. He almost couldn’t envision himself turning up to Grime in any state but at least tipsy, the mere idea of him walking in sober and being able to do it without just chickening out wasn’t something he could see as actually happening.

The toothpaste didn’t mix well with the full sugar coke, making him cringe even as he spat into the sink and swirled the white bubbles away, immediately lighting a cigarette because his fingers were twitching nervously on the cool porcelain edge. He looked up, mask resplendent on his face and neck tattoo concealed by special makeup he kept in the bar for people who wanted cover-ups but couldn’t get an appointment for a while. He looked odd. It was like looking at a photograph of himself, but then maybe he was just drunker than he thought, or perhaps his self-perception had been so altered by Sly that he just didn’t recognise himself any more.

He had to admit that his reflection wasn’t unpleasant, in fact he had to admit that he looked pretty good, his efforts in clean eating and more workouts were obvious where the tank top fell low on his chest, showing tanned pectoral muscles and biceps well shaped and strong. He’d never considered himself a vain person before, but now he figured that he could be easily, turning his head to the side to regard his hair where he’d tried to change it a little, his style was fairly distinctive and he didn’t want to be noticed. It wasn’t the best job, but he never styled his hair normally so he figured it had gone okay, front locks swept back off his forehead messily in a quasi-side fringe and shorter hairs at the back spiked up with wax and hair-sprayed.

He felt a little… preened, but he had to admit it wasn’t too bad and at a first glance he knew he’d be unrecognisable, mask dipping low enough to cover the teardrop on his cheek and almost pretty. It was fairly simple to look at and he wondered where Sly had gotten it, nothing more than some thin red cloth, shaped with wire concealed in between the two layers and twisted into a spike that ended just under the white teardrop. It was almost like it had been made just for him, other eye framed by a line of harsh spikes that were different lengths and thicknesses, he had to admit, he liked it and it looked pretty damn good.

 

* * *

 

 

He wasn’t getting nervous, that would be an odd word to use for it, he was irritated and impatient, that was more accurate, he’d been waiting for Mizuki for what felt like hours now, ever since he’d arrived the minute the doors opened and got to work. He never had to pay entry, not with Virus and Trip on the door, he’d done them enough favours lately that he needn’t pay for anything, taking the packet of cigarettes Virus handed him with his frosty smile and the drugs Trip handed over unblinkingly. He was even brave enough to bitch about the amount, remarking casually that he’d be sharing and pretending he didn’t notice the worrying twitch of Virus’ lip as he just gestured for Trip to give him more, other just gazing at his partner for a moment before obeying and handing over another small packet of drugs, pills this time.

He just nodded his thanks and headed inside, club not yet very full and people only just beginning to get into the party spirit, one guy twitching nervously in the corner and obviously new, others sniffing obviously and wiping blood off their noses.

But Virus’ parting words stuck with him as they always did, he was fucking creepy at the best of times and now something about his speech and the thin, snake-like smile he’d been given made him feel a little nervous, something he was not used to. It was almost like he’d known who he referred to when he said he was going to share, because Sly Blue did not share anything, he had reminded him first that his free drinks applied to himself only, and he already knew that. But his last sentence was almost muttered, like he wasn’t supposed to hear even as he did and they both knew he had, eyes narrowing the tiniest amount and just smirking dryly as he pushed past them and headed inside.

The throbbing of the music through his bones didn’t make him feel the way it usually did, he felt out of place somehow and while he was used to that in most aspects of his life, he’d never felt like that in regards to Grime before. He almost felt like there were too many eyes on him, but then of course there were, because he looked good tonight in particular, and the masquerade always drew more normal folk who knew who he was and what he did, so of course they stared. But the regulars, they seemed different, their gazes weren’t appraising or familiar or a little guarded, now they seemed suspicious and judging and he felt unpleasantly hot as he headed to the bar and received the same from the bartender. But it was easily fixed with a little flirting and a cheeky smile and wave as he headed off with his drink, falling into a scowl the second he turned and heading straight for the bathroom, because he was paranoid already, so why not make it worse with drugs? It would be a while til Mizuki turned up after all, if he even did, though right now there was no doubt in his mind that he would, he was so predictable it was laughable.

 

* * *

 

 

An hour passed, then two, rapidly approaching three and the club near to stopping admission for the night, and Mizuki still hadn’t turned up, Sly just leaving the bathroom after his latest job and getting another drink to wash the taste from his throat. The music was too loud and the bodies jostling him were too sweaty, sticking to his skin unpleasantly and not filling him with the thrill of freedom to be himself, or what they wanted him to be anyway, his own personality eluded him most of the time. There was somebody dancing behind him, a little too close but he didn’t really care, he was done working for the night now, unless he got a really good offer, he needed money after all, and a horribly naive part of him was still hoping for those olive eyes to appear and spot him.

He supposed he understood, because Mizuki wasn’t exactly very sociable anyway, sure he went on the occasional night out, but not many, and he knew because he watched him from the rooftops quite often, it was a good way to pass the time and the more he knew, the easier it was to get things from him.  But Grime was too much for even some more hardened members of the island, let alone for the relatively innocent bartender, he’d probably walk in, see the guy laughing to himself with a cocaine bloodied nose in the middle of the floor then promptly turn and leave, though if he did that Sly would just let somebody else pay to fuck him, he’d already had some offers.

He wasn’t entirely sure what this feeling in his stomach was, mild discomfort as the guy behind him promptly gained confidence and shoved his entire, sweaty, smelly body against his, maybe a little residual queasiness from the drugs and drink he’d already consumed. But it was more than a physical feeling, it was like his brain was going crazy and there were butterflies flittering up into his throat so his chest hurt, wanting to shove the guy off because since Mizuki had touched him he hadn’t wanted anybody else.

His thoughts were scaring him so much he lost track of time, people dissipating around him only to be replaced with new ones, somebodies drink spilling next to him and hearing the crack of a punch landing, not bothering to even look because he knew it would be over before it began.  It was rather monotonous, this night, or indeed any other night, because Grime was the same as always, and sure there were a few badly disguised new faces, some Beni-Shigure guy taking shots at the bar with one of the prostitutes, but it was boring him now. He longed for something new, some new aspect of this part of his life, that was why he had invited Mizuki, he wanted excitement, new experiences to permeate every inch of his life, he wanted to show him danger and see how he’d react. To see if he’d run as he slightly expected, or, if as he hoped, he’d take it in his stride and relax soon enough, wondering if he’d dance with him like this, close and hot and dirty amongst the smell of warm bodies and spilled alcohol. Burned sugar and weed smoke heavy in the air and making his head fug with pleasant warmth, just shaking his head as lips brushed his ear, pretending he hadn’t flinched away, refusing the offer because he could remember this guy and to his knowledge he had a fairly serious hygiene problem.

Besides, just because that was what he did to earn money, it didn’t mean he enjoyed it, he was still waiting for Mizuki, because if he listed things he wanted to do, he would rank nice and high on the scale.

 

* * *

 

 

He was still nervous as he made his way there, having stowed his mask in his pocket, deciding that wearing it in the street would seem suspicious, he wasn’t sure if this was even genuine, half suspecting Sly of tricking him into this or of it being some kind of horrible set up. But still, he’d committed now and as he headed out of the more residential areas and even past Aoyagi Street and into the rougher areas of the island where he knew the club was, he felt almost excited. Stopping about two blocks away at a mirrored shop window to secure the mask around his head and check on his hair, still rather odd looking, but hairspray keeping it spiked and in position so it hadn’t flopped back down to his usual fringe.

His neck tattoo was still well hidden with the help of the special concealer, and though it had involved more than a little trial and error, most of it remained well hidden by the thick makeup and he just hoped he wouldn’t sweat it off, not sure how well it would last under extreme conditions.

But the issue was, he still looked like him, even if one of the newest team members saw him know they’d still know who he was, and with his widespread reputation on the island, he knew that at least somebody in Grime other than Sly must recognise him. If anybody saw him now they’d definitely ask where he was headed, and other than lying and saying he was going to another bar somewhere, he had no other excuse, they’d still question both his outfit and his unusual hairstyle, it would raise questions for sure.

He stopped staring at himself a minute later, realising he was just panicking himself and that now he was nearly there he may as well carry on, reaching into his pocket and removing his packet of cigarettes, bypassing the creamy tubes in favour of a rather messier roll up. He and Tio had gotten high a few days ago and he’d had some weed left over, he had planned on inviting him over again for a gaming night or some such where they could smoke it, but they were barely talking now so he figured he may as well have it. The only issue was that he was useless when it came to rolling joints, normal cigarettes were fine when he had to roll them, he had a machine he used, but he couldn’t use it for weed so it was incredibly obvious what it was.

But the streets were empty and he realised quickly that nobody would care anyway, even if a team member identified the smell and knew what it was they were unlikely to mention it since weed was basically the least taboo drug on the island, and if he was seen the weed would be the last of his worries. It was a bad roll, roach too loose so a lot of acrid smoke washed through his lungs and burned his throat, fighting the urge to cough and wishing he’d just made Tio roll all of it when he’d had the chance, telling himself he needed to practice this more.

It floated into his head pleasantly, mixing with the alcohol although not badly, just making his head light and his lips twitch up into a smile at nothing, feeling his eyes grow lazy and half shut as a dopey expression settled on his face. He had the feeling he may have been rather generous in using the last of his bag in one spliff, he was only halfway through and he already felt almost unpleasantly high, but still he continued to smoke it and ignored the tearing feeling in his chest. He glanced absently at his coil, vision a little blurry but nothing he couldn’t handle, wondering just when he was meant to turn up and figuring that as long as it was before they stopped admitting people at 1am, which was very early anyway, that it didn’t matter. Realising it was already nearly half midnight and that explained why the streets were so empty even in this rough area, standing from the wall he’d been leaning on in feigned casualness.

He finished his joint as he approached the club, reminded himself that nobody in there would be likely to be somebody who would give a fuck if he stank of weed, hell, they probably wouldn’t care if he walked in with a needle in his arm, and approached the bouncers at the doorway.

They were… _Strange_ for bouncers at a club as rough as this, dressed in unusual, almost matching plaid suits and with obviously bleached blonde hair, eyes horribly blue as he approached and making him feel a little exposed. He almost felt like he’d seen them before somewhere, their unusual matching-yet-not look was familiar to him, but they gave no signs of recognition, one just greeting him with a polite nod that he returned a little uncomfortably.

But they didn’t so much as speak, one raising a coil reader with his face expressionless, not giving him much choice but to scan it and watch as a small amount of money transferred, other just smiling serenely through it all, glasses shining in the moonlight and somehow creepier than his silent colleague. Then he was moving to open the heavy metal door and the sound of loud, grungy music escaped into the street, not able to see much beyond but darkness and the occasional red LED light that presumably led to the main room.

In the split second before the door shut behind him with a horrible final clang, he swore he heard the glasses wearing twin, because they must be twins, speak, and ice crawled up his spine like he was going to throw up.

“Enjoy your night, Mizuki-san.”

But no, it had to be the weed paranoia setting in, because he didn’t recognise the blond men, and they didn’t know who he was, he was hidden behind a mask and concealer and spiked up hair, a terrible disguise but effective enough to fool strangers. But then maybe it was just his skin tone, he was tanned all year round, far more than anybody else he knew and possibly even the darkest person on the island. He didn’t even know his ethnicity for sure, so there was even a chance he was half Japanese and half something else, maybe that was what gave him such richly brown skin and made him so easily identifiable.

But he shook the thoughts away, blaming them on the weed and the alcohol and his nervousness about this whole thing, walking down a maze of dark corridors that stank of smoke and piss, a disgusting combination that never seemed to end, before he reached a long descending staircase.

The actual club seemed to be pretty deep underground and he had to admit that it seemed like the club catered exactly to the type of people who’d like to be hidden away secretly like that, thinking absently that Sly must love it here. The staircase spiralled downwards steeply, metal steps thin and some almost worn through, banister too grubby for him to even consider using and with several of the metal rails broken off to leave sharp spikes of metal. Then another wide flight of harsh concrete steps that crumbled under his feet, warmth and the smell of sweaty bodies trailing up to him along with the throb of music that made the walls vibrate, moisture leaking down the badly plastered surface and breath almost fogging in front of him.

There was one more door between him and whatever Grime would hold, but luckily by now he’d caught up with the people in front of him, a group of Ribsters he vaguely recognised as causing trouble more often than not, able to enter behind them and very glad for it as he emerged into the horribly inadequately lit room.

The bar was little more than a long hole in the wall, manned by only one person who looked hardened and whose nose had been broken more than once, thick arms almost entirely covered in tattoos and half of his bald head overtaken by a colourful design, metal spike piercings tearing through the surface of his sweat-shiny head.

It was nothing like his own bar or the clubs he’d been to before, there were no stools at the bar or comfortable sofa’s to be seen, sure there were a few random couches and armchairs littered around, all in a state of disrepair, the one tucked into a corner home to two people that were definitely having sex.

There was a large dancefloor made of cheap linoleum, packed with people dressed in masks and studs and, as he’d expected, too much leather, everyone writhing and grinding against everybody else in the crowded space. There was a dark corner where he was certain somebody was getting sucked off, he was just relieved to notice that the one occupied didn’t have blue hair, incredibly glad now for the few drinks and the joint he’d had before setting off, because this was already unpleasant and he knew if he was sober he would have just turned and left.

The issue was that now he was here, he didn’t know what to do, wondering if Sly was even here yet but sure he must be, figuring he’d seek him out easily enough and deciding to do what some other people seemed to be doing, grabbing a drink and lingering in the dark shadows against the walls.

Plan decided, he set off to do just that, feet crunching through fuck knew what and making him cringe, trying to ignore the guy who sat in the middle of the room giggling to himself and with arms so badly marked with needle scars that it made him queasy. The floor, when he glanced down at it, was carpeted with incredibly worn material, seemingly having once been red, or maybe blue, he really couldn’t tell, it was marked with a million stains, littered with broken glass and cigarette butts and what looked horribly like used needles.

He rapidly averted his gaze upwards, feeling very much like he didn’t fit in here, he was too normal looking, too clean and well-presented despite his attempts to look casual, it was obvious as he thought about how the fuck these kind of people would order a drink, or even what they’d drink.

But still, he ended up there and the guy was staring at him with hard eyes, naturally narrowed against the strobe and the complete opposite of the friendly way he always regarded customers when he bartended, words leaving his mouth unrehearsed. “Vodka coke.”

He didn’t move for a moment, eyes narrowing further and flickering over his neck in a way that made him want to reach up and touch it, though he managed to avoid it, just gazing back at him and finding it hard not to smile, it was just natural to him to be so polite, even not saying please had felt wrong. Hell, maybe Sly was right and he really was just a pussy, too obsessed with manners and appearing nice to let himself have fun, though he wasn’t sure he liked the kind of fun he’d have here, watching as the bartender finally moved away.

His olive eyes watched him intently as he made the drink, cheap vodka and cheaper coke, not even branded and presumably bought in bulk from somewhere on the island for a bargain price, but he supposed he should just be grateful he hadn’t spiked it. His measure had been generous and Mizuki knew he was so obviously a newbie here that it would be obvious to con him out of money or whatever, but when he demanded the amount it wasn’t even much, eyes searching for a coil reader for a moment before realising there wasn’t one.

“Cash only.”

It made sense after all, in fact knowing Grime there was a chance that the people on the door didn’t actually work there and had just set themselves up to make some easy cash off the patrons of this lovely establishment. Just glad he’d considered this earlier and brought a decent amount of money, pulling out a note and being handed his change in a messy pile of dirty coins he slipped into his pocket without so much as a grimace.

 

* * *

 

 

He soon got the horrible feeling that the people propping up the walls were hunting for something, sipping their drinks casually and some of them twitching occasionally like they were suffering from bad withdrawal symptoms, which made a lot of sense. Often one of them would lock eyes with somebody and stand from the wall, heading into the throng and not returning, or would head to a hugely muscled guy who stood in front of the toilets, arms crossed and handing over packets of whatever people asked for, disappearing into the bathroom with their illegal goods and shaking fingers. He was almost surprised that there were women in the club too, but he supposed it made sense, some of them were almost pretty under their caked on makeup and slutty clothes and he was surprised, but then he knew prostitution was fairly common on the island, though it wasn’t something he’d heard about much, watching one obviously bartering prices with one of the ugliest men he’d ever seen before they both headed off.

He hadn’t really considered what he would do if Sly didn’t seek him out, this wasn’t a place he could have fun alone and he was so lost in his thoughts about the whole thing that he didn’t really even think about searching for him instead. He was gazing at the masks, some wore them and some didn’t, there were a few people who looked a little like him, out of place and struggling to unwind as a girl who was obviously a hooker danced on them, hoping for a job. His vodka coke tasted disgusting and he was only drinking it because he hoped maybe it would relax him, the cheap cola was flat and warm, sliding stickily and unpleasantly sugary down his throat, cut through by the paint-thinner burn of cheap vodka in too generous a measure.

He questioned himself once more as to his motives there, but he supposed that this was just how far he’d go for a fuck now, he’d go to a dangerous, seedy club to hopefully get sex with somebody so hated they could destroy his reputation. But he had to admit, the thought of Sly dancing close and dirty on him like the girls on the dancefloor made his drink taste just a bit sweeter.

 

* * *

 

 

Before he could even register it his waiting was over, able to abandon the pretence that even as he bought drinks or smoked a cigarette or let somebody dance all over him that he wasn’t checking the entrance, losing the scowl he’d been focusing on the Rib team that had just arrived as he noticed familiar tan skin. His disguise wasn’t bad, his mask suited him as well as he’d expected and his lip quirked up at the corner even as he turned into the crowd and disappeared into the throng, invisible now from the very person he’d been waiting for.

But he found a good vantage point to watch him, wondering how long he should leave him there to panic before he actually approached and took him out of his misery, made him realise it wasn’t a trick and got to see him up close. Though looking from afar wasn’t bad and he had to admit that his chosen outfit wasn’t too out of place either, he could fit in with a little teaching, and he planned to be the one to do it, wondering if there was some way he could convince the bartender to let him get two free drinks at once.

He had the night all planned out, drinks, drugs, dancing, and if he was lucky and he didn’t fuck the bartender up too bad, later on he should get a good dicking too. If he’d been a better student at school, or had even showed up, the alliteration might have amused him, but as it was he just followed the broad expanses of well-formed muscle as they gained their bearings and headed to the bar, receiving the usual cold stare of the staff and thinking to himself how odd it must be to go from being the bartender to having to use one.

He waited five more minutes, ten, fingers twitching with anticipation on his cigarette, because smoking laws weren’t followed in Grime, but then neither were most other laws so it wasn’t surprising. He stood from the wall calmly, stretching upwards and shirt rising up so his ribs stretched and strained under his skin, knowing there were eyes on him as he sauntered off, walking the way he always did in Grime, with intent to entice, but tonight he had one man on his mind, and it wasn’t a paying customer.

 

* * *

 

 

“And here I thought you weren’t coming,” Sly was one of the few people in the world that he felt could be an literal ninja, actually jumping and drink sloshing as he turned his head to realise he was leaning casually next to him, almost pretending they weren’t speaking, wondering when the fuck he’d even gotten there. He wondered absently how long he’d been there without him noticing but decided not to bother asking, he probably wouldn’t like the answer or the mocking it would receive, just smiling absently and continuing to stare at the dance floor.

“Well, like you said, I’m a curious guy.” He didn’t comment on that, just smiling to himself and finishing whatever unpleasantly neon drink was in his hand, glass looking as worn out and greasy as Mizuki’s had been, though he doubted Sly would care, wondering just how he’d paid for it, or even if he had.

He used Sly’s silence to regard his newly found fuck buddy, taking in the yellow mask that adorned his face, nowhere near as bright as the eyes that shone from behind it, looking almost like dripping blood in its pattern and trailing all the way down one cheek. His top was one he’d never seen before, black and tight fitting with no sleeves and a fairly high neck, cropped horribly short to show the broad extent of his flat white stomach and pointed hips where his torn jeans rode low on his waist. There was a white logo on the black material and his eyes flickered to it immediately, some kind of winged heart with a halo hovering over it, it was pretty damn distracting and he was trying to work out where he’d seen the logo before even as he spoke.

“So what do you think?”

“Aside from the couple fucking in the corner?” He asked, trying not to stare at where he could swear Sly’s eyes were outlined in deep black, iris’ popping with vivid sheen and almost golden band of colour accentuated by the cat’s eye flick of liner at the inner and outer corners. There had always been something feline about him, in his smooth, graceful movements and the way he could turn from warm and friendly to hissing and scratching in seconds, his skin tight black outfit just making every movement of soft flesh painfully obvious.

“Of course.”

“It suits you,” and it did, the dim lighting where any illicit behaviours could be hidden, the grungy, slightly dirty feel to it, the feeling that something here was almost wrong or deviant that made it bizarrely enticing, the way that everybody here gave in to desire. It screamed of being somewhere Sly would love and it seemed he was right, he looked more at ease than he’d ever seen him, not having to be on defence here, among people who didn’t hate him quite as much as everybody else outside did.

“You flatter me,” his words might be sarcastic but he sounded amused, just going into the pocket of his jeans a minute later, and Mizuki noticed for the first time that they actually fitted him, looking almost new and that was a definite topic of interest because the only person who gave Sly clothes was him, and they were always second hand anyway. “Want an E?”

He considered this for only a second, registering a fight starting in his peripheral, right next to the bar in fact, bartender just blinking in boredom and ignoring it even as a glass smashed over somebodies head and he could see blood even from across the room. “Sure.”

He wasn’t even subtle about it, but then he guessed that he didn’t need to be here, just handing the pill over to him and placing his own on his tongue, stealing, as he’d expected, Mizuki’s drink to wash it down before handing it back over a minute later and letting him take his own, figuring it couldn’t be as much of a headfuck as the coke had. It was small and innocent looking enough, some shade of almost sickly green and stamped with a smiley face, it left grit on his tongue though that could be his disgustingly dirty glass or some remnant in the bottom of it.

“Wow bartender, that was easy. I’d almost think you were uncomfortable.” He spoke as if he wasn’t quietly mocking, still not looking at him, lips moving and stood right next to him but almost trying to make their conversation hidden although nobody else was paying attention.

His lip twitched into a smile involuntarily at that, because he’d hit the nail right on the head, he knew that the only way he’d be even remotely able to relax would be if he took some pretty hard drugs, and if Sly was offering he wouldn’t refuse. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“You’re stiff.”

He tried to bite back the childish urge to laugh at that, just side eying him and noticing that intense yellow stare on him, making his breath catch even as he spoke, “usually you like that.”

His stare remained unmoving for a second, regarding him calmly, maybe trying to work out just how gone he already was, ecstasy having not hit yet but seemingly under the influence of something else anyway, nostrils hitching as he caught the familiar scent of weed. His mouth twitched into a smile and he licked his lips to try and hide it, not quite masking his chuckle as a straw Mizuki hadn’t noticed slipped between plump pink and his cheeks hollowed as he drank, showing prominent cheekbones.

He was painfully aware again of just how pretty he was, although as he shifted off the wall to approach the bar again, leaning against the surface and bartender actually softening as they spoke, though Mizuki couldn’t hear what about, he rapidly shifted from pretty to just damn hot. It almost seemed Sly was flirting with him, leaning forwards over the surface and ass stuck out in the air pleasingly, cropped top short enough to show the dimples at the base of his spine, but then he glanced in Mizuki’s direction and the bartender frowned.

He glanced away a moment later as Sly shifted to whisper in his ear, smiling seductively and head tilted to one side as if asking for something with his feigned innocent approach, it never worked on Mizuki but it must have worked on the other. Just seconds later a new glass was shoved into his hand, holding the same neon liquid as Sly’s, bright yellow and strong smell assaulting his nostrils as he decided there’d be no use asking what it was.

He regretted that the second he swallowed though, because it was like fire and bleach at the same time and his stomach objected, not able to hide his cough even as he wanted to, registering Sly’s amused snort and just trying to glare at him with watering eyes.

“What the fuck is this?” How his voice still worked after pouring what felt like acid down his throat he didn’t know, but Sly just sipped his own casually, like it wasn’t molten lead in a glass, actually having the nerve to laugh, though the sound was pleasant enough that Mizuki felt his ruffled feathers flatten down a little.

“It’s called a suicide, you like it?” Well the name was appropriate if nothing else, and by the look of it Sly had drunk this several times before, presumably getting smashed remarkably easily given his small frame and less than sufficient diet. You’d have to have at least a small suicide wish just to order it, let alone to drink more than one, just hoping he’d be able to force this one down then go back to drinking normal fluids.

“Not really,” that was an understatement, but he knew Sly would only mock him again and he wasn’t really thrilled by that idea, even if his teasing smirk did make him feel horribly warm inside. “What’s in it?”

“Um, vodka, rum, tequila, something else and hot sauce.”

“Hot sauce?” He couldn’t hide the disbelief in his voice, though he had to admit that the fact what he was drinking was a mixture of at least three liquors, if not four, was rather more difficult to believe than the fact that it had hot sauce in it, though he could believe that easily enough as his voice rasped a little.

“Yes.”

“In a drink?” He didn’t reply to that, just rolling his eyes, because the answer was obvious, and turning to him for the first time, as if saying that he’d realised pretending they weren’t together was stupid, yellow flickering over him appraisingly, pausing on his neck for rather too long and frowning.

“How’d you hide the tattoo?”

“Makeup.”

“How manly of you.” He was smiling but it wasn’t entirely mean, if anything he was regarding the now blank stretch of skin with what could be disappointment, as if he was sad to see it covered over, or maybe he was just upset that he’d covered his bite-marks with it too. “Good disguise though, I almost wouldn’t have recognised you.”

He was flirting again and Mizuki could recognise that even under the increasing haziness of his head, lights growing bright and strobe seeming almost hypnotizing as it flashed over the dancing crowd, making their movements slow and jerky and fascinating more than they would normally be. “How did you?”

His eyes narrowed behind his mask for a second, shooting somebody behind him a nod he knew he shouldn’t respond to, “I never forget a fuck,” that was a lie and they both knew it, but he was willing to accept it, just taking the drink Sly shoved into his hand with a mumbled, ‘hold this’, and watching him disappear to the guy he recognised as the dealer.

 

* * *

 

 

He was only gone a minute, returning with sharp eyes and taking his drink back without so much as a nod of appreciation, not responding to Mizuki’s questioning gaze, yellow continually flickering from the dancefloor to the dealer he’d just spoken to, and back again. He looked almost nervous and it was such an odd emotion to see on his face that Mizuki couldn’t help but watch him, taking in the tiny crease that formed in his forehead as he swallowed his toxic cocktail.

But of course he couldn’t stare forever and after a minute those yellow eyes were back on him, or more specifically, his drink, pausing for a second before he’d glanced around them again, and presumably deemed it safe to speak to him, leaving the tattooist wondering what the fuck had happened  “Are you going to drink that?”

“Unlike you, I don’t have a death wish.” He answered easily, because while Sly had presumably destroyed both his taste buds and the lining of his throat years ago, Mizuki had not and would like to keep it that way if he had a choice.

His raised eyebrow was anything but impressed and Mizuki was almost a little intimidated, key word being almost, but then Sly spoke and of course used his biggest bargaining chip, “don’t you want to fuck me later? Cause if you do I recommend you drink it,” his tone was hard and he wasn’t going to let Mizuki bargain with him, just regarding him with a steely half-glare and annoyance fading as he reluctantly tipped the cup up and drank a good half of it.

“You’re trying to kill me, that’s what this is,” he managed to slur rather queasily, he could feel his stomach rebelling and for a second he thought he was about to throw up, only just able to swallow the urge down and coughing into his hand with his eyes squeezed shut. “Ugh, this stuff tastes like shit, how do you drink this?”

And of course, _of course_ , he promptly emptied his own glass with little more than a displeased squirm of his lips, lapping the taste away from the corners of his mouth and just watching as Mizuki gave in and finished his, looking remarkably displeased with the whole thing, but battered pride a little repaired that he’d succeeded in half keeping up.

“Finally, now follow me, we’re gunna get high.”

He never gave him any choice in these things, yet Mizuki followed him blindly anyway, past the dancefloor and the person who looked like they were sleeping on the floor, or dead, he didn’t know which and was alarmed at how unconcerned he was by it. He almost lost him a couple of times, alcohol beginning to dim his coordination and knowing that if he bumped into somebody in here that he was sure to find himself in a fight he might not even win. But he caught up with him, lingering in the doorway he assumed led to the bathrooms, oddly not labelled with either gender and seemingly being mixed, though in a club like this people would go between them freely to fuck anyway, it almost made more sense to just not bother in the first place.

“Take your time,” somehow his sass was even stronger here, slipping inside the door and ignoring the way it hung off its hinges, leading him into the room that was as disgusting as he’d anticipated, it stank of piss and vomit and god only knew what else. He could hear moans coming from a cubicle and rhythmic banging and there was somebody sitting quite comfortably on the only unbroken sink counter, looking up at them and raising an eyebrow as Sly pushed open a cubicle door and all but shoved him in.

“Drugs are illegal.”

“Oh fuck off, Claw, you’ll get your cut” he replied, but his tone wasn’t quite as spiteful as it should have been, almost amused as he just raised a middle finger to the man in question, who just held up his hands in apology and went back to his spoons and needles.

“Claw?”

“His weapon of choice,” Mizuki just blinked at him, because to his knowledge a claw was not a weapon, just watching as he rolled his eyes and locked the toilet door behind them, music still loud even in here and a nasty wet puddle on the floor under their feet. “Claw hammer.”

“Oh of course,” he muttered, wondering just what kind of people Sly associated with and rapidly realising that he must be the best of a bad bunch by a long way, just focusing his mind on their surroundings instead and nose wrinkling at the state of the room. It was covered in graffiti, but then the rest of the club was so he wasn’t all that surprised, toilet roll dispenser unsurprisingly empty and hanging off the wall by a single screw, toilet seat lying on the floor and actual porcelain so disgusting he wouldn’t even consider going near it. But of course Sly had no such qualms, shoving the lid back on top of it and perching atop it casually, seemingly waiting for the bartender to finish observing the room. “You bring me to some lovely places.”

He laughed at that, or snorted, some combination of genuine and mocking, “Relax, we’re only in here for coke, can’t exactly snort a line out there, can we?”

“If you say so.” He rolled his eyes, because based on the guy injecting himself by the sinks and the couple he’d seen smoking what were obviously joints by the bar, he had the feeling they could whip out any illegal substance and nobody would care, let alone try to stop them.

“Fine then, it’s easier to do in here,” he corrected himself easily enough, removing the small white pack from his sinfully tight jeans, shifting off his throne to crouch on the ground, jeans riding so low Mizuki was almost lost for words for a second, clearing his throat instead and glancing around curiously.

“Do you always do this?”

“What?” he asked, already neatly scoring out the lines with that ever present razor blade he had, storing it fuck knew where, not looking over at him and asking absently, music a little dimmed in here but not by much, not even blinking as the door next to them slammed loudly and he could hear seductive laughter and drunken moans.

“Come to places like this, get high and fuck about.”

“Not every night.” He answered easily, like he had asked about the weather or some mundane activity, not about his promiscuity and illegal activities and less than savoury leisure activities, just changing the topic to please himself as always. “You having a line or what?”

He hesitated for the briefest second, because he never did answer a question straight and he supposed he should be used to it but something in him still wished he’d be open the way he once had, now his walls were unbreakable. “Sure.”

“Then get down here,” he yanked him down by the only method he really could, hooking a finger into his belt loop and pulling him down to his eye level, pausing to just stare at him for an unnervingly long second, eyes blown a little wide and expression blank, then he turned away and the moment ended. Something about him was different, but then maybe that was just because they were finally on Sly’s territory, his home turf, as opposed to hiding away in his apartment or bar. They were both out in the open now and his willingness to be seen with him made something in his mind falter and hesitate awkwardly, not sure how this made him feel other than that it _made him feel_. “Imma need a bank note.”

“Any one in particular?”

“Well you’re getting us shots with it after, so up to you.”

He just rolled his eyes, but he had to admit he didn’t really mind, finding a ¥2000 note easily, wondering just how many shots he was expecting and guessing it would be something terrible like four each. Watching with only mild concern as Sly laid out four neat lines, starting hard on two each then and ecstasy already pumping through his veins, making his skin hot and head heavy, mixing with the alcohol in his stomach and making him so damn thirsty he didn’t even object when he was handed the used banknote. He was just annoyed he’d missed the moment where Sly’s pupils blew wide and he got that amazing smile, mouth open and eyes wide in pleasure as it hit his brain right where he needed it, snorting his lines quickly and still not used to the strange feeling as his throat numbed.

But there was no time to sit back and wait for it to hit, Sly had already stood, taking the note back from Mizuki and heading to the door, opening it and raising an eyebrow as he hesitated for a second, inclining his head to encourage him. “Come on, shots,” He held out his hand and for a moment Mizuki wondered if he wanted him to take it, but then he blinked down at himself and frowned and the hand retreated instead, expression mildly uncomfortable as he hovered there.

He didn’t miss the moment where his actions registered, just pretending to not notice them, because as always he knew that brining up any slip in Sly’s well trained act would only end badly, somehow managing a smile, “You’re very demanding.”

“Would you want me any other way?” His eyebrow was raised, because he knew the answer already, and all Mizuki could do was glance down at the floor and pretend his cheeks weren’t warm under his familiar gaze, shrugging as he replied.

“I suppose not.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I hope you’re not thinking of just leaving…” The guy, Claw, remarked seemingly casually as they tried to leave, barely flinching as the remainder of the coke, admittedly not much, hit him in the face, just taking the small bag with a grin and a nod of thanks.

“What was that?” Mizuki asked as he was led out of the bathroom quickly, one of the doors shaking rhythmically and the sound of panting and moans spilling from underneath it not even effecting him now, used to it already and not even alarmed that he was.

“He works here, I give him a cut of whatever I get and I get perks, you’ll find out what they are later,” that was as cryptic as he’d expected, and he knew better than to question the fact that the man sat in the toilets injecting heroin was apparently staff, it seemed that was just the way it was there. But still, Sly led him through the club easily enough, staying just in front of him, as if still pretending they weren’t together for whatever reasons he may have, maybe his reputation would be damaged if he was seen with a Ribster, disguised or not. But he caught up easily, falling into step beside him and horribly aware of the curious gazes they gained, Sly really was a lone wolf even here by the look of it, and Mizuki felt oddly out of place.

“What’s with him?” Mizuki asked, glancing to the bartender whose beady eyes were staring at them with almost unnerving focus as they approached, having narrowed as he and Sly arrived at the bar and the other ordered shots, pocketing the change as if it had been his money to begin with.

“He’s not used to me being with someone,” he shrugged when his back was turned, because it was unlike him to actually pull after all, or even to be at the bar really, he usually spent his nights in Grime in the toilets waiting for customers or in the alley-cum-smoking area out the back where he was sure to find somebody with spare money and the need for a dick sucking he was more than willing to provide. So to see him on his busiest day of the year having seemingly pulled somebody instead of just doing his usual, was odd even by his own standards, but meeting Mizuki had changed things and he didn’t need their money as much anymore, what he wanted now was his fuck, but that could wait.

“They really know you here, huh?”

“Pretty well, now drink up.”

 

* * *

 

 

As he’d expected, shots with Sly meant four each, and strong ones too, no nice pleasant tasting sours, nope, they were on straight vodka and the measures here were cheap and generous, a painful combination that meant by the time they were done Mizuki felt sick to his stomach. Or at least the first two were vodka, the second two he couldn’t even identify, some horrible clove, aniseed, liquorice tasting yellowish fluid that he’d never seen before in all his years of bartending. It made him think horribly that it might be home brew, and any alcohol that might be made here wasn’t something he neither trusted nor wanted to sample, coughing into his fist and only bearing it because Sly was close by his side and he could feel his warmth seeping into his skin.

“How drunk are you?” He didn’t hear at first, music he didn’t recognise punching his ears and making it hard to distinguish much, strobe lights seeming to slow the movement of Sly’s face, the slow spread of his smirk and his hair illuminated by yellow lights. “How drunk are you?”

Oh, that was what he’d asked, he’d gotten distracted by the wetness of his lips and had completely missed the fact that their soft lines were trying to get a response, just realising with a sudden and rather delayed reaction, pausing to consider it. “I’m pretty drunk,” there was no point in lying, he felt on the verge of unpleasantly out of it, head light with drugs and body heavy with alcohol, the two fighting for dominance and leaving him feeling like there was a war between his ears.

“Drunk enough to dance?”

“I don’t dance,” sober enough to use his normal reasoning at least, even if he did feel his legs turn a little jelly like under him as Sly turned to stare at him incredulously, tilting his head to the side and one eyebrow raised over his mask. He didn’t look impressed, just staring him down with those horribly vibrant yellow eyes, boring into his mind and making him hot and shaky all over, licking his lips absently and wondering to himself why he was being so reluctant. Wasn’t this why he had come after all? For the image of Sly, bathed in a sheen of sweat and dancing under white strobe and flashes of yellow-red-blue-green, slim form moving to the music as if it was all he knew, swaying slowly or dancing fast and wild, hair whipping around his face and arms raised high.

“You didn’t come all the way here not to dance, come on,” but now he had no choice, his own logic had failed him magnificently and Sly’s fingers had slid into his own, locking together messily and he was being all but yanked across the club to the scuffed, cigarette burned wood that was the dance floor. He supposed he was right though, just managing a half smile, more like a twitch of his lip than anything else as Sly turned to face him, grabbing his other hand and walking backwards with a grin, laughing as the other almost tripped, too distracted by how damned endearing he was at times like this. He was like any other teenager, just wanting to have a good time, leading a reluctant friend to the dancefloor because the music was making his limbs impatient and he wanted, needed, to get out some of this energy, to sweat out the alcohol and let himself go and have _fun._

He didn’t seem like the kind of person who had fun often.

 

* * *

 

 

He’d never seen Sly so at ease before, used to him being defensive and closed off, elbows tucked into his sides and fists ready to fly, so it was like it was another person who stood in front of him, arms above his head and swaying to the music. He’d relaxed into it so easily, stepping onto the dancefloor and guiding him through the people til they were right in the middle, hidden from the bartender and the dealer and the people who lingered looking for a pull or a cheap fuck. He’d ignored the way the grip of his hand tightened as they got lost amongst the people, just squeezing back as they pushed past people smelling of sweat and perfume and cheap aftershave, all mixing together headily and combining with the weed that lingered thickly in the air, making his head buzz and the lights seemed to be hypnotising him.

But then Sly had released him with a grin and started dancing and his smile had faded because he was so into the music already whereas Mizuki didn’t even know what it was or how the beat went, couldn’t even hope to emulate the ease with which he got lost in the rhythmic percussion and electronic vocals. His body was like water, moving fluidly and completely at ease surrounded by warm, strange bodies, not even showing any trace of nervousness or self-consciousness when Mizuki’s drunk, drugged up head was still able to cling onto anxiousness.

He’d never been much of a dancer, he didn’t really have the needed coordination, he couldn’t move quite right to match the music, he was always the one dragged to dance when really he’d rather stay sat down with his drink in safety. But he had to admit that none of his team were exactly going to win awards for their dancing, some acting like they were gangsters from a bad movie with over exaggerated shoulder and arm movements, throwing up fingers like they were guns and trying to be impressive. Some of them were better, Tio and Hayato were pretty good, they actually seemed to be able to catch the music’s rhythm and move in time to it, Michi and Tetsuya were both too nervous to do much but anxiously shuffle from foot to foot, occasionally attempting more if they were urged but easily lapsing back into it. Then there were the guys who didn’t even bother to try, moving with ungainly flails of limbs or somewhat manic head movements, Sora and Nobu were notorious for scaring women away with their rather… _Energetic_ moves.

There’d always be a couple dancing in pairs too, laughing and having fun, holding hands and spinning the other round, mimicking a waltz or just trying to aggressively move the others arms until they dissolved into laughter or bumped into somebody else with an apology and a smile.

But Dry Juice had nobody that compared to Sly, he was good at dancing, and not just at dancing, at being sexy, the way women always tried to be and usually succeeded, he did have a fairly feminine figure he supposed, his waist was soft and curved inwards over his hips. He could roll his body so smoothly and so in time with the music, arms high above his head and coming to link before falling, or by his sides and twisting besides his gyrating hips.

If Mizuki was less drunk he might have whimpered, because this really wasn’t fair, it wasn’t at all okay how fast Sly had gone from being a child he couldn’t touch (in his eyes at least), to being this horribly alluring creature who just begged to have warm fingers on his pale skin. It was the crop top’s fault, he was certain of that, because if he’d been wearing a shirt of a normal length he wouldn’t be able to see his ribs arching and straining under his skin, or his bellybutton in his soft stomach, or the sharp angles of his hips where he’d left bites before. No, this really was very unfair and he felt it even stronger as his partner, company, friend, whatever the fuck Sly was, finally realised how stiff and nervous he was, turning to gaze at him with yellow eyes wide and awake with the beat of the drums through his feet.

He didn’t know what to do with his arms, that was the usual issue, because sure his two foot shuffle was awkward but it was okay, it showed he was at least trying to dance like normal people did, but then his arms just sort of hung there. Or they did until Sly stepped closer anyway, right into his space, hair almost brushing his nose because he never registered it but there wasn’t much height difference between them, a couple of inches at most. But this mundane thought faded as cold fingers, always cold, reached for his, placing them easily on his waist which burned red hot against his clammy digits, shifting on the flesh uncertainly.

“You can do better than that, Dry Juice,” he was teasing him, taunting him to try harder, to actually try and let loose and allow the alcohol confidence to emerge, demeaning him with the nickname as his smirk grew and his slim fingers lingered on his shoulders.

With the dancing he couldn’t hope to do much more than his usual shuffle, a little drunken now and misstepping a couple of times, but he was sure he could make Sly happy in other ways, pulling him in closer so their bodies were flush and he could feel him moving against him,.

His eyes were filled with neon lights and he could hear a whining, high pitched buzzing in his head, almost like some giant insect was flittering around them, suddenly realising how out of it he was, feeling almost unpleasantly sick. His stomach was churning unhappily and if it hadn’t been for Sly’s hands on his shoulders he was almost certain he would have staggered into the people all around them more than once, footsteps becoming more erratic and fumbling. He was sure Sly must have noticed, his expression felt weak and a little stupid on his face, like he was smiling dumbly or something, and he had no idea how long they’d been there for, just aware of blue hair in his eye line and hot skin under his fingers. If he’d been alone, or in a club he was less wary of, he would have abandoned the dancing in favour of either sitting down for a while, or just going home, maybe grabbing a kebab and a bottle of water on the way.

But Sly seemed to have gotten a similar idea, moving back a little to regard him and frowning because the tattooist was more than a little fucked, his pupils were so wide the soft green was almost completely obliterated and he was swaying visibly on his feet. He couldn’t do much but frown in irritation, because he’d wanted him to let loose but he’d gone too far and it seemed the only place he’d be ending up tonight was either in bed or in hospital having his stomach pumped. He looked like he was about to pass out and he knew he had to get him out of there because Grime was not a place that treated paralytic people kindly, grabbing his hand and leading him back off the dancefloor, all too aware of the sweat that covered his skin.

He was gripping on like a child and presumably had no idea what was going on, usual curious questions not even a concern in his drug hazed mind, just following him into the bathrooms again where Claw looked up at their arrival.

“Oh, looks like Sly’s pulled,” his smile was wide and mocking and Mizuki was somewhere else, too drunk and high to feel even a little uncomfortable under his gaze, but he had to admit that his lungs felt like fire and Sly’s white skin was like sunlight in front of him, he was too distracted by wanting to touch it to be particularly annoyed at being referred to as his pull, true or otherwise.

“Fuck off and give me the key,” he remarked, catching a silver key easily and unlocking the door at the end of the toilets, metal swinging open noisily and Sly all but dragging him inside, fingers warm on his own and locking it behind them. If he was less stoned and drunk he might have objected, but as it was the music was vibrating through his feet and reverberating in his skull and something in it was like a drug to him, just making him want to grab Sly and pull him close and yank on his pretty hair. “Perks, bartender, perks.”

But still he refused to get close enough, walking away ahead down through the room which seemed to be for storage, mops and buckets that surely had never been used littering the floor and packets of toilet rolls looking like they’d been eaten by rats festooning the floor. Another door almost hid in the corner and it was this that they walked through, ending up in a plain concrete room, lit with neon strip lights and still somehow managing to be dark everywhere but where they hung loosely from the ceiling in tendrils. Some almost touched the floor, ceiling clearly having once been completely covered by thin lines of them, falling down with time to create an almost veil of them, Sly passing through it and ending up in an empty area that held little more than two battered armchairs, one on its side, and a collection of other miscellaneous rubble.

“Sit down and try not to throw up,” Sly instructed, and even in his sudden desire to touch him, he knew he had to listen, he felt worse than he ever had before and his breaths were coming erratically through parted lips. He buried his head in his hands and barely registered the pained groan that he made, not even aware Sly had left the room until he returned a moment later and a bottle of water was suddenly in front of his face. “You have no idea how strange people look at you here when you ask for water, I had to lie and say a client was too fucked up. I was almost right.”

He didn’t even react, just trying to open the bottle with shaking, sweating hands and giving up remarkably easily, allowing the other to yank it out of his hands irritably and then thrust it back into his grip, muttering about him being a baby all the time. “I guess you’ll be needing to go home then?”

He registered the casual annoyance, pretending he wasn’t as bothered as he really was, rolling himself a joint calmly and with remarkably unshaking fingers, as if he hadn’t had the same amount to drink as Mizuki if not more. He hadn’t realised before but he’d painted his nails black, already chipped and flaking off but somehow rather pretty, suiting him well and he wondered why he’d put so much effort into tonight. He just nodded, movement making everything spin and promptly deciding it was better to stay very, very still, managing to sip some of the warmish water and not sure if it made him feel better or a hell of a lot worse.

Time wasn’t passing normally, sure he’d only been sat down a few seconds when Sly stood and he looked at the ground, confused to see several cigarette butts there that definitely hadn’t been present when they’d arrived. Then the next he remembered he was in some alley somewhere, cold air freezing the sweat on his skin and throwing up all over his own shoes, Sly just a blue shadow in the corner of his vision as he let him deal with himself, not the type to hold his hair back or rub his neck soothingly.

 

* * *

 

Then he woke up, and it had been so long since he’d gotten so drunk he’d blacked out that for a moment he felt nothing but panic, not sure what he’d done or with who or how he’d gotten here, surprised at how dark it still was outside and rolling over to discover he couldn’t have been asleep long. He still felt almost painfully drunk but now he knew he wouldn’t get any worse, the drugs had presumably all but worn off and he could just feel the familiar heavy head that came with mixing too many spirits.

It only took him a moment to think of Sly, feeling remarkably confused at the idea that he had presumably brought him home, and based on his state, probably quite literally put him to bed, despite the fact that he hadn’t gotten his fuck and Mizuki had been less than helpful. He sat up with a groan, realising that yeah, he was still really, really drunk, reaching for the cigarettes on his bedside table where he always stored them, mildly surprised when they were actually there, next to his keys and the half empty bottle of water he mildly remembered Sly giving him.

“You’re alive then, good to know,” his voice was cold but tinged with amusement as he managed to light his cigarette after several attempts, surprised when he turned to see the other reclining on his bed and seeming quite comfortable, smell of weed thick in the air and his expression almost goofy.

“What happened?” He wasn’t entirely surprised by how small and weak his voice was, projectile vomiting had the habit of doing that, not to mention that his cigarette box had been full when he left the house and was now nearly empty.

Yellow eyes turned to regard him lazily, mask removed now and hair splayed out over the blankets where he lay the wrong way round, feet propped up on the pillow by his face and head almost hanging off the end of the bed. “You were off your face so I had to walk you home like a toddler. You’re quite the embarrassment.”

“Hm,” he just nodded, because he’d thought as much, just sighing tiredly and closing his eyes, feeling sleep threaten to overwhelm him again and deciding he wouldn’t stop it, cigarette basically ignored now, just managing to murmur his thanks as the room turned black and everything disappeared.

He drifted in and out of sleep for what seemed like hours, occasionally being awake long enough to regard his guest for a sleepy second, rolling yet another joint with an expression of intense concentration, just once he was sleeping, jacket Mizuki recognised as his own wrapped around him and frowning even in his sleep.

But he had to wake up properly at some point, heading into the bathroom shakily to piss and grimacing at the vomit that splattered his sink and up his mirror, just sighing because it would take a lot of cleaning up, registering for the first time that his wet jeans had been removed. Had that been Sly? He didn’t quite believe it, it was more likely that he’d instructed him to undress himself and he’d been just coherent enough to manage it, ditching his clothes at various locations in the bathroom, his jeans in the tub, his vest beside the toilet and one of his shoes utterly absent.

When he returned to his bedroom after splashing cold water onto his face, he felt a little better but still wobbly, tipsier more than anything else and all the weed fog in the air clouding his brain and making him a little light headed. It was obvious Sly was incredibly high, lying completely boneless and flopping across his bed lazily, looking far more comfortable than he ever had before and seemingly not even too annoyed that he hadn’t gotten his fuck. But he just climbed back into his bed, propping himself up against the headboard and watching him quietly as he took another drag of his joint, ditching the end into a mug he must have gotten sometime while Mizuki was unconscious.

He’d never much liked silence, so Mizuki wasn’t entirely surprised when he spoke up only a couple of moments later, not making eye contact and just staring up at the ceiling instead. "You know,” his voice was so calm, so relaxed and easy and _simple_ that Mizuki couldn’t hide his smile, pleased and feeling like for once Sly might be comfortable enough with him to tell the truth about something big, at least til he continued speaking. “You could totally stab me right now, like I'm so off guard."

He blinked for a second, contemplating this, realising that Sly once again wasn’t being the open person he had been before the attack that had made him so cold and hard, he was just stoned and talking shit, voice mildly irritated as he replied, because why couldn’t he just be a normal human for once? "What the fuck are you on about? Why would I stab you?"

"I'm not saying you would, but you totally could."

"I'm not going to." Why he even felt the need to clarify that he wasn’t sure, but he did anyway, earning a raised eyebrow that said he had no doubt that he wouldn’t even dream of doing such a thing.

"Well that's good, for me at least. But nobody would be sad if you did."

"Hm, I might be."

There was a pause, Sly's yellow eyes locked onto his and he paused for a second, breath freezing in his throat and limbs icing up like he'd been shoved into a minus thirty degree freezer and the door had been locked behind him. It was as if in that moment there was nobody else but them, they were the only two people in the whole world, throbbing head ceasing just for a second and sound of the island beginning to wake up outside the partially open window dimming into insignificance with the weight of his words.

But he didn’t respond, eyes crinkling as if in pain a second later and looking away as he always did when things got to real for him, ignoring the issues that weighed so heavily on him at moments like this. It was a shame, a real shame, Mizuki thought, that he couldn’t respond like normal people would, with a warm smile and gratitude and maybe a soft kiss on his swollen, cracked lips. But nothing about him was soft or genuine or real, he was as fake as the women who cooed and awed over Koujaku to get a haircut, as fake as Tio’s indifference towards him, and at times like this he couldn’t stand it.

“You’re worth something, you know that, right?” But he was ignored as he’d expected, just sighing to himself and lighting a new cigarette, offering one to the other and knowing it would be accepted a damn sight easier than his words ever would be. “As much as anyone else.”

“You’re biased, and soppy. It’s quite disgusting really,” he remarked as if it was easy, as if his words were light and relaxed instead of real and solid and intended to actually change something, whether between them or just Sly’s self-image. Just holding his cigarette into the lighter the bartender offered, the only thing of his other than his body that he’d accept, not comfortable on his bed anymore and instead shifting to sit stiffly and solidly on his spare pillows. The drunken, drugged up part of him wondered if maybe he wished that someday he’d find somebody who would lie on those pillows every night, and the incredibly fucked up part of him wondered if maybe that would be Sly. But then he blinked and took a drag and the other moved away and he realised he was just thinking utter shit again, because Sly was unlovable and would certainly never accept a warm, comfortable place beside him in his bed like any normal person might.

“Well I apologise for trying to be nice.”

“Apology not accepted, you know I don’t like that shit.”

Yes, that was true, almost painfully so at times like this, just nodding and deciding to leave this for now, this trying to break through his hard shell to the truth inside, it was too difficult, too much effort and definitely too draining for him to be bothered. He was tired now, in general as well as in ways specific to his unwilling bed mate, just dragging on his cigarette with the vain hope that it might burn as much as Sly did when their skin touched. But of course nothing could hurt so much and soothe so well at the same time, only the feel of pale skin against his own could soothe the itching agony within his soul, only Sly’s hard kisses and meaningless but so damn _delicious_ moans would make him feel even remotely healed.

He was fucked up inside, and Sly was too, and while both knew they couldn’t fix the other, neither wanted to end this thing they had, this arrangement, friendship, rivalry thing they had going, it was too precious to Mizuki and he hoped Sly regarded it at least a little similarly.

But then, what did Sly consider precious? Drugs, alcohol, cigarettes too maybe. That must be it, or at least that was all his drug hazed mind could come up with right now, wondering absently how the other regarded him, far too drunk and inhibitions having died too long ago for him to even consider his words before he spoke. “So, what do you think of me?”

His eyes were narrowed even before he finished, because being asked for an opinion of pretty much anything was dangerous and he didn’t much like it, yellow turning hard and icy as a fresh winters dew before he so much as closed his mouth and had any time to regret. “You’re a good fuck.”

He kept his disappointment silent, holding it in as well as Sly did any true emotion, just managing a dismissive scoff and regarding the way the other held his cigarette, fingers hard enough to dent the filter he clutched so protectively. “Well thanks, but I meant more like… Personality wise.”

He looked distinctly unimpressed, but then what had he been expecting? A kind response detailing his favourite aspects of his psyche? If he wanted that he knew all he had to do was go to Tio or another team member, no, he knew Sly wasn’t capable of letting himself be open whatsoever, but he still thought deep inside that maybe with enough pressuring he’d let some of his old vulnerability seep though. All his childishness, his playful side and his innocence had seemed to die in the time he’d been away after the rape, attack, whatever it had been, and he knew deep inside that it would never come back. But he was too far gone now, too lost in this and in the almost gold of his irises and the electric blue of his hair and the pale white perfection of his skin to stop himself, cursing his words even as they spilled out of his stupid, thoughtless, obsessed lips.

“What happened to you? Before you disappeared?”

He didn’t make it subtle, he hardened like a forgotten sandwich or the disappointed eyes of a loved one, not that he would ever be that to anybody, frame tensing on his pillows and looking a million times more reluctant to be there than he had been before. Biting at his lip so hard Mizuki could almost feel the soft flesh tearing and ripping between hard teeth that were like tombstones in the pink of his gums, jaw setting hard and cheeks hollowing as he sucked in an angry breath.

“What?” It wasn’t a question, it was a demand, an order for him to explain himself and to stop pretending like he was mister innocent, drugged up beyond all recognition and too drunk to be able to monitor himself, because didn’t they say that drunk words were sober thoughts after all?

“You never told me what happened, you said some of the rumours were true. I want to know which ones.” His voice was hard but inside he was shaking, whether with nervousness of what he might find out, or just at his bravery he wasn’t sure, but he certainly didn’t feel as courageous as he sounded.

“It’s none of your fucking business,” it was a hiss, a vile, bile-strewn response, like acid spat right into his face and enough to make anybody else back away and understand that he just wasn’t fucking talking about this, but Mizuki had never been just anybody. Stupid, insistent and demanding to a fault, he couldn’t resist the urge to respond, feeling his hackles rise and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up indignantly, frowning immediately.

“I think it is, you fucking bullshit me so much, I want the truth for me for once.”

He snapped, like an elastic band stretched too far, face twisting into an ugly snarl that twisted his features into a hideous, beastly mask that Mizuki hated to see, moving suddenly and fast enough that he couldn’t react even as his hand gripped his chin hard enough to bruise, holding his head in place. “You want to know? You really want to fucking know, huh?”

Where he got the bravery to respond, he wasn’t sure, but somehow his mind was so fogged over with chemicals and Sly’s scent, so irresistible this close to him, even in these strained circumstances, that he managed to speak. “Yeah, I wanna know.”

He paused for a second, like he hadn’t expected the response at all, then his voice was fierce and fiery, almost spitting into his face with the force of his words, with genuine emotion and expression twisting and morphing wildly. “You want to know everything? How they put something in my drink, how I staggered out feeling like I was going to die with my heart going at a million miles an hour and my ears ringing like it wasn’t _totally fucking silent_. How they grabbed me and hit me til I couldn’t fight back?” He’d stopped to suck in a breath and if Mizuki wasn’t quite so horrified he might have noticed the wetness of his eyes and the growing hysteria in his tone, as if he was going to break into tiny slivers of himself. “How they shoved me down and held my arms and legs so I couldn’t even fucking move, pressed my face into the dirt and tore me apart? Is that what you want to know? Does it make you happy, knowing what happened? Do you feel better now? Justified in what you’re doing, because hey, if somebody else has done it then why shouldn’t you?”

“Sly, that’s not-“

“No! You told me to talk so shut the fuck up and listen,” his teeth were bared in a growl and his fingernails were digging into the beginnings of stubble on his jaw, he’d snapped and Mizuki had known he would eventually but he wished it wasn’t like this. “They took everything, _everything_. I have nothing to give you so stop trying to fix me!”

His tone was growing hysterical again, shaking and wavering over the words, trying to say something else only for his words to fail as he sucked in a wet breath, rasping through his lungs, realisation sweeping over him and moving away fast. Almost running in his haste to leave, not registering the bartender following him as he swung his bag over his shoulder, pausing at the doorway for a second. His eyeliner had smudged and he looked so tired, glancing down at himself and breathing hard, ribs swelling and falling under his crop top, ditching his bag and Mizuki had to admit that for a second he hoped he’d decided to stay. But then material obscured his face and Sly had thrown his hoodie at him, removing the only thing that kept him connected to the bartender, eyes hard and lips parted where he breathed unsteadily, like he might cry.

“You-“ But his words died again and now his eyes were wet, standing there and whole body shaking, chuckling wetly and dryly, no humour in his gaze as he just shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but it’s not going to work. You can’t handle it, so stop fucking trying and stay the hell away from me.”

He grabbed his arm before he even registered it and the sharp pain of an elbow in his ribs was all that made him let go, just knowing it was useless and watching him run down the stairs, almost tripping and leaving him with nothing but a rapidly bruising chin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr @ minky-way  
> Character designs/fic updates/art/other things of interest- [here](http://minky-way.tumblr.com/tagged/intravenous-series)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic playlist- [here](http://8tracks.com/minky-way/intruded)
> 
> This chapter contains a fairly graphic depiction of self harm, read on with care!
> 
> Also, I have decided that trying to upload weekly is too much pressure on me, so now I will be uploading every two weeks but still on Wednesday, this way i hope chapters can be longer and better written

“All of you?”

“Yeah, we um, we’ve been thinking about it a while. I mean we’ve been here a long time now, we guess it’s just gotten a bit… Boring.” Mizuki’s face must have fallen because he was quick to correct himself. “Well not boring, just routine. We’ve been invited to join a Rhyme team, we just thought something different might be cool.”

“Rhyme?” His dislike, and his confusion were clear and the initial speaker, Nobu, sighed, nudging somebody else in their little group to speak, trying to justify themselves without upsetting the bartender.

“It’s nothing against you, or Dry Juice, we just… We’re getting a bit old for this, and Rhyme is the new big thing. We just think that if we don’t try we’ll regret it. Dry Juice still means a lot to us, just not as much as when we first joined, guess we grew out of it.” He glanced at his friends here and the fact that they all nodded, albeit with feigned reluctance, made something in the pit of Mizuki’s stomach turn ice cold.

“Hm, I understand,” but that was a lie, because how could they grow out of it? This wasn’t just a hobby for Mizuki, this was his whole life, his entire existence up to now had been building this, first his bar and studio, then the team, making friends and forging something powerful and impressive, and now it was crumbling around him. But he couldn’t force them to stay, as much as he might want to, forcing a smile that felt agonising on his cheeks and trying to keep his voice steady even when he wanted to scream at them, to ask why they wanted to leave him too. “So when do you plan on going?”

“Um, well as soon as we can really. It’s not like we’re disappearing, we’ll still be around to visit and stuff, and we’ve got loads of friends here. But we can’t do both.”

“No of course not, okay, er, so if I were to call a meeting for this weekend? Would that be okay?”

“Yeah, that’d be perfect. We’re sorry, Mizuki, really we are. But… Dry Juice just isn’t for us anymore.” He believed him, he really did, but something inside him, an old wound that had never properly healed, was throbbing, telling him this was a personal thing, that they weren’t leaving Dry Juice, but _him_ , and he wouldn’t be left all alone again.

“No, it’s okay, I get it. You can’t stick around forever, but Rhyme, huh? You’ll have to tell me all about it.” His smile was fake as was his enthusiasm, his curiosity, because he didn’t care about Rhyme even a little bit, sure he didn’t have anything against rhymers per say, because they didn’t tend to cause much trouble and mainly kept to themselves. But to lose four of his team members at once, ones who had been with him for almost as long as the team had existed, who he considered good friends, it hurt, really bad, and he knew the minute they left that something inside him would crack.

“Yeah of course. But we better go, got stuff to do, you know how it is.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright guys I’ll send a message out about this weekend,” he watched them leave with twitching fingers that wanted to yank them back, to scream and yell like a child and hold onto their ankles, to beg them not to leave him alone again. But then the door slammed behind them and he blinked and everything was back to normal and the oozing wound inside him was just a dull throb he could easily drown out.

 

* * *

 

 

Fuck. Everything was falling apart and he was almost certain he wasn’t exaggerating, first Tio had revealed the secret he’d been hiding for years and made things so uncomfortable between them that Mizuki couldn't be in the same room, then, rather predictably admittedly, Sly had flipped out. But this? This was the straw that broke the camel’s back, the cherry on top of the steaming shit-sundae that his life had rapidly become, people had always come and gone, but never at this rate and he was beginning to feel icy cold fear tingling at the ends of his fingertips.

Four members down in one fell swoop, four members they couldn’t afford to lose, that Mizuki didn’t want to leave. A trusted bartender who’d been a valued part of the bar staff, somebody who occasionally stepped in for Tio to do some piercings. But more than their skills, they were family, or at least Mizuki had thought so, but seeing them so excited to leave and go elsewhere, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe they had never seen this as anything more than a hobby.

But worst of all was that he had nobody to talk to about this. Sly had never been an option anyway, but usually he’d go to Tio about anything that made him feel this anxious and sick inside, but he’d been cold and closed off ever since admitting he loved him, the irony of which made Mizuki a  little more amused than he’d care to admit. But Tio was ignoring him for anything but essential conversation, right hand man suddenly seeming as distant as the members he waved off almost every other day now, working with him fine but silencing the moment they were alone.

He’d like to talk to him about it, to try and work something out where they could both be happy, or at least be able to deal with it better than this anyway, but he wouldn’t know what to say, because they both knew he didn’t feel that way. In fact these days he almost reminded himself of Sly, he only found emotions at the bottom of an empty bottle or when he threw them up into his toilet after a night of heavy drinking, alone. Because God, he was always alone these days.

 

* * *

 

 

“How tall are you?” He asked it without thinking and it was clear that the recipient was a little surprised by it, blinking as he was put on the spot and shrugging.

“I’m not sure, about six foot? Why?”

“No reason, just… You’re tall.” His voice died and he felt incredibly stupid, because of course Kin knew he was tall, he wasn’t blind after all, to have stated it like that made him sound like something more than just a moron and he almost wanted to slap himself.

“Yeah…” his voice trailed off a little uncomfortably and Tio was rapidly aware that this conversation was dying faster than a may fly, clearing his throat awkwardly and doing nothing other than drawing a raised eyebrow from the other, like he expected him to speak now.

“Um, so Mizuki said you’ve bartended before?”

“Yeah, a couple times, just part-time,” he nodded and instantly the atmosphere was calmer, back onto normal topics that it was okay for strangers to talk about, back to what they were there to do and small talk seemingly left behind them as just a bad memory.

“Okay awesome, so you already know how to make cocktails and stuff?”

“Most of them, unless you do any special ones.”

“We do, but we can come back to those, um, Mizuki left a list somewhere,” he turned around to the counter he swore it had been on a minute ago, mildly distressed to find it wasn’t there, because Kin’s blue eyes were on him and he felt almost like he was judging him. Looking up with a slight frown to see it in front of his face, tucked in between fingers that were surprisingly slim, just taking it with a sheepish smile. “Thanks. Um, so I’ll just read them out and you say if you can make them, that’ll save some time.”

“Sure.”

“Okay, cheeky v, woo-woo, sex on the beach, porn star, the godfather,” he glanced up after every one he named, waiting for his nod of assent or otherwise, listing off the first few easily and thinking to himself that training him might not even be necessary, at least til he stopped him.

“I don’t know that one, godfather.”

“Alright,” he muttered, grabbing his highlighter and covering it in pink ink. “Well you seem pretty good so far, strawberry daiquiri? Blue lagoon, purple rain.”

“Don’t know the last two either.”

“Okay cool, we have a couple of our own, volcano is the trickiest I guess, and hand grenade, then there’s blue shark and French kiss.”

“Hm, did Mizuki make these all up?” He sounded a little impressed and Tio wasn’t sure why he felt annoyed that he’d just assumed it was Mizuki who’d made them, head bartender he might be, but that didn’t mean he knew everything, he wasn’t even the one training him, did that not speak of Tio’s skill?

“Nah, French kiss is mine and he found blue shark on the internet somewhere.” He explained, wishing suddenly that he hadn’t decided to name his drink French kiss, even if the idea had been half Mizuki’s idea, remembering him commenting, rather distractingly, that it was the kind of taste you’d want to lick off somebody. “So d’you think you can make me one of all the ones you know, and I’ll get you set up to make the others?”

“Can do,” his grin was wide and it made his eyes crinkle at the corners, not that Tio should have been noticing that, just turning away with a frown he hid badly, because he didn’t like it that he was noticing these things, that the top of his head barely reached the underside of his chin or that one of his fingers was slightly discoloured, as if it had been badly burnt.

“Cool, glasses are down there and the rest is just scattered about, you’ll learn where it all is soon enough,” he offered a smile he wasn’t sure he meant and watched as the other got going, retrieving glasses first and then heading over to the built-in shelves and eyes roaming them carefully.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do while Kin made the drinks, other than gathering the ingredients, most of which he’d be using already, heading over to the sugar syrups and fruit cordials that sat on their own shelf. He grabbed the bottles almost mechanically, because he was sure he could do this blindfolded, remembering one time he had done exactly that, Mizuki not believing his claim and demanding that he proved it. Things had started off fine, he’d managed to find the vodka with an embarrassing amount of blind groping at the wall until he felt the indent of the shelves and managed to grab it, it was only when he went to put the bottle on the counter and nearly dropped it that the other stepped in.

He’d been suddenly behind him so fast that his breath had hitched shamefully loudly, other just assuming he was surprised and laughing right into his ear as he took the bottle from his hand, skin so hot on his, vision cut off and making everything press in a million times stronger. He’d shadowed him as he went about his task, making a Woo-woo, because he’d suggested Mizuki’s favourite but he’d said it was too easy, grinned and set him a harder challenge, lingering close now in case he dropped anything else. He took every bottle from him and set them on the counter when he’d gotten them all, the four of them neatly lined up and feeling distinctly proud at how easily he’d found them, grabbing a glass carefully for fear the whole shelf would fall in one disastrous, sweeping movement.

The pouring was a little harder, and he basically poured each liquid over his own thumb which rested on the rim of the glass, not the most hygienic thing, but it was hardly like he was doing this for a paying customer after all, it was just Mizuki. He could almost tell by how the glass felt in his hand how full it was, estimating when to stop pouring the long, thin stream of vodka and when to start adding the cranberry and orange juice, coming out in a splash at first and no doubt getting the counter.

But then it was done and taken out of his hand but for some reason he didn’t take the blindfold off, not quite yet, because Mizuki was right behind him and he could feel his warmth seeping into his back, hear the sound of him swallowing and the small, pleased noise. He’d not said anything else and the silence had grown thicker, air heavy and something oppressive making his throat close just as he was about to ask if he could take the blindfold off now, to laugh and brag and see his proud smile. But there’d been hands turning him round and a hot mouth on his and the sweet taste of berry on his lips and anything he might have wanted to say was suddenly lost because they’d had an agreement not to do this during work hours but it had been the bartenders rule and his to break.

He’d ended up fucking him right there in the bar, blindfold still on at his insistence and Tio realising fast that he really didn’t mind not being able to see if it meant he could smell and feel Mizuki so much deeper, overwhelming him.

“All done!” But then he snapped out of it and it was just a distant memory of something he shouldn’t be thinking about, unaware of how long he’d been remembering, just stood in front of the syrups and cordials they needed and running his fingers over his bruised knuckles over and over again. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just zoned out,” he smiled, just blinking in alarm as a hand, a little darker in skin tone than his but nowhere near as rich as Mizuki’s was, took his with no warning, lifting it up to his face and examining his healing knuckles with interest.

“Damn, you must have hit him hard. It’s healing well though. Mizuki did a good job bandaging it,” he wasn’t sure what it was, the foreign skin on his own or the bartenders name mentioned at the same time in that horribly friendly voice that made him wriggle his hand free a little faster than was polite, but he saw Kin’s eyes narrow for the briefest second. But then he was laughing and apologising, shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously, maybe realising he was being too familiar, “sorry, I’m not very good at the whole personal space thing.”

Lies. That was a lie and Tio knew it, because ever since Mizuki had made those comments about the other he’d been watching him whenever he could and he never did anything like this to anybody else, never sat just a little closer than was necessary or touched them unless it was essential.

But if he was lying, then Tio would too, “Its fine. But yeah, it was a pretty solid punch.” He shrugged it off, because he still wasn’t sure if he was proud of it or not, he had most certainly deserved it for the shit he was saying, truthful or not, but he didn’t like the fact that it had been what he wanted. Sly had been pestering him to get a reaction, it was so obvious, but he’d still reacted anyway, people’s advice to just ignore him and carry on with his day not quite as easy to follow when he was already on edge all the time.

“Well good, it’s about time he gets what’s coming to him,” he shrugged it off and smiled sunnily as if they were talking about a movie they’d seen, pausing as Tio just regarded him silently and with more than a little caution in his expression, clearing his throat and turning to the filled glasses behind him, smile suddenly resplendent as if this wasn’t swerving wildly between awkward and fine. “So, wanna try them?”

 

They were good, but then he’d expected nothing less from somebody who’d been bartending on and off for the last few years, demonstrating the other cocktails he didn’t know and handing him the recipe sheet, watching with impressed eyes as he barely glanced at it again.

“So how come you had a vacancy suddenly, somebody quit?” Tio hadn’t expected him to speak when he did, having been covertly watching him pour measures of vodka into different glasses smoothly and like it was all he’d ever know. He was so lost for a second that the other turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow but not asking again, almost somehow knowing he’d heard and turning away again to continue constructing a volcano as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Oh yeah, a few people actually. We’ve, um, been losing members for a while now.”

“Oh really?” He sounded surprised, but in that oddly fake way people did when they didn’t really care, wondering if he was just trying to find an excuse to make conversation and almost sure that was the case. “Where are they going?”

“Rhyme, most of them, we lost a couple to Beni-Shigure last month. They said they preferred the way they went about things.” He tried to not sound as bitter as he was, to not frown and remember Mizuki’s almost distressed disposition when he’d first told him they’d lost three more to Rhyme, shrugging like it happened all the time when really it felt like things were falling apart.

“But they’re barely a team, I mean they don’t even really meet up or anything…” It was true, Beni-Shigure was a good team and no doubt about it, but they weren’t as close knit as Dry Juice, they met up maybe once a month, but Dry Juice were doing something almost every day.

“I don’t understand it either, but that’s what’s happening. We’ve been getting less new recruits too, you’re the first in about two months and we normally get a lot more interest than that. We can barely afford to turn people down now...” They’d never been picky, that wasn’t the right way to describe them, but they always made sure that new members were the right kind of person, and now it seemed that to keep their reputation they’d have to start accepting anyone.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, well we’re pretty much done. Um, I swear I’m missing something,” he smiled sheepishly and regarded those icy blue eyes on him, piercing and swallowing thickly as he scanned the bar as if looking for some kind of visual cue. The cocktail menu he’d neatly written up just a couple of weeks before jerked his brain into action and he found the words he’d been struggling to find, “oh yeah, we don’t do anything off-menu, doesn’t matter if they know all the ingredients and how to make it, we don’t do it, no exceptions.” He felt a bit business like and suddenly wondered if he was being too stern about all this, turning with a somewhat wobbly grin because he was still being stared at and it was starting to get a little much. “Well, I mean if it’s just the team then do whatever, but for customers.”

“Alright, that makes sense, wouldn’t want to make it harder for ourselves.”

“Yeah, so we’re done now,” he couldn’t help but feel relief, terrible as that was, because something about Kin unnerved him, he was too focused on him, more than anybody else, studying like he was something fascinating when really he wasn’t. “Do you know what shifts you’re getting yet?”

“Nope, Mizuki said he’d trial me this weekend so we’ll probably be working together,” he looked too happy about it and Tio tried not to frown, just glad that meant he’d be able to work with Mizuki too, thinking absently as he waved him off that he was hopelessly, pathetically obsessed. He couldn’t even focus on a couple hours bar training somebody without thoughts of him filling his mind, even if they hadn’t spoken in over a week now, they still worked together and things weren’t even awkward. The truth was out now and Mizuki didn’t care one bit, it hurt a little, but he supposed he was far more used to the bartender hurting him than he was anything else, it was a little sad, he supposed.

 

* * *

 

 

He was not in a good mood, not that he ever was really, but that wasn’t the point, he was in an atrocious, burn the world and fuck everybody over kind of mood, the kind of mood where all he wanted to do was hurt somebody. But alas, at nearly five am there was nobody around, so he guessed he was the next best thing.

His knife sliced through his skin all too easily, stood in front of the broken mirror he’d found and dragged back to his shit excuse for a home, watching the blood spill to coat his legs and drip stickily to the floor. It didn’t really hurt, which he supposed was a little annoying, and he hadn’t even considered how he’d clean up afterwards, all clothing abandoned except his boxers, which were rapidly growing wet with the crimson fluid.

He hadn’t really known why he’d done it where he had, standing there with both arms at his side and debating, wondering whether this would really help then doing it anyway, because that was what he did. He weighed up the pros and cons, then ignored them and did whatever the fuck he wanted because he had the freedom to and nobody would take that away from him, not again.

Unconsciously he was sure there’d be a reason the line scored right across his stomach and in a straight line over the other wrist, maybe because that was where hands had grabbed him to hold him down, pinning his hand to his back and gripping his stomach so hard it had bruised and swelled with red fingerprints for days after. But he ignored that, wondering if maybe he’d done so many drugs and gotten so drunk that he wouldn’t be able to feel anything, knife dropping the floor with a clatter because it was deep enough that he was okay with it, trailing a slim finger through the blood and inhaling deeply.

He’d done it a few times before, hurt himself like this, but only since… Since then, burn marks littered his arms and he knew Mizuki only stayed silent about them because he knew it would be a lot of bother otherwise. There were scars too, running along the softest part of his inner thighs, because he knew Mizuki liked that part of him, always running his hands along it and sucking marks into the skin. He wanted to destroy any part of himself that Mizuki liked, until he was just an empty shell and then maybe he’d be able to use him the way he wanted, to treat him like just another body instead of a person, like he had feelings and thoughts and deserved to be treated well.

He was sure if he was a normal, functioning human that he’d probably be crying right now, or would have cried over it, but he hadn’t spilled a single tear, sure he’d come near a couple of times, his eyes had filled and threatened to fall, but they never had. He was too dead, too cold and rotten inside to summon a single drop of moisture to fall down his face, and he didn’t know if that scared him.

If he really thought about things that scared him, the list was short and unusual, because being attacked didn’t scare him, drugs and drink and sex with strangers didn’t bother him. But people, people sometimes scared him, Scratch did now and probably would forever, because he knew it would be all too easy for them to do the same again, but they didn’t scare him the same way Mizuki did.

Mizuki _terrified_ him, because he wasn’t predictable, he was strange and illogical and horribly, unpleasantly kind. He was generous and friendly and warm while Sly was moody and cold and hated everything associated with the bartender, hated his cushy life and nice apartment and warm bed and fridge packed with food and beer and things normal people needed. He hated him, possibly even more than he hated himself, but that was hard and he wasn’t too sure about it, pushing that thought to the back of his mind as he began to feel dizzy and lightheaded. But he stayed stood up, because feeling sick was a lot better than feeling nothing, pain beginning to seep in and a cool breeze coagulating the thick blood onto his skin, brown trails crusting where they rested on his sore, torn feet.

It was getting light outside, he could see it through one of the shattered windows, high up in the wall so it was never quite bright enough down here where he was, amongst the filth and so far away from the almost pretty blue sky that it may as well have been a painting, not that he’d ever cared much for art. He couldn’t see many clouds, and he didn’t know if he liked that or not, because he almost wanted it to rain, to wash him clean, so to speak, for the sky to be as grey and cloudy and stormy as his mind always was.

But nothing ever worked in his favour, not this arrangement with Mizuki, which had seemed so damned promising at first, because even he’d turned against him now, nosy and intrusive and so fucking caring that he couldn’t stand him anymore.

The rag wasn’t very clean, but then neither was anything else he owned, he almost wished now that he’d kept the jacket he’d stolen, he could clean himself up then wrap it round himself, let warmth seep into his cold bones and lie on his mattress and try to sleep everything away.

There were better warehouses, he knew that, he’d been in one just recently, with intact windows and two levels connected by a sturdy metal ladder, he’d almost liked it, but it didn’t have a sink the way this one did. Built into the wall and somehow still working even after all this time, constantly dripping ice cold water from the rusting faucet, fragile skin turning blue under the flow as he turned it on with a sharp screech of twisted metal.

As he dabbed himself clean, and damn did he have to be gentle because it was stinging like a bitch now and his breath was hitching as the cold water, probably filthy, infiltrated the deep cut, only making more liquid bubble out, he wondered what Mizuki would say if he could see him now. Ironically enough he had the feeling that he wouldn’t _say_ anything, he’d take off his hoodie and wrap it round his shoulders, kick the knife away as if he was going to do more, maybe try and hug him or some such bullshit. Then he’d speak, he’d tell him to meet him at the apartment so he could clean him up, give him stitches if he needed them, feed him and clothe him and let him sleep in his unfairly comfortable bed. Even if he refused, as well he might, he’d leave just long enough to get or buy a first aid kit then come back straight away, carrier bag in his hand full of bandages and sterile spray and probably food, a bento box or things that kept, pausing in his cleaning for a second to think of the pack of jerky that remained unopened in his one cupboard.

He was hungry, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to eat anymore, he had the feeling that it might be nice to just let himself waste away, to stop eating unless he was on the verge of collapse, to let himself get smaller and smaller until he disappeared. But even that plan was thrown away without so much as a weighing up of its benefits, because there were still people he needed to piss off, and while he refused to live for anybody else, if it was to irritate them, then he could definitely do that.

But he didn’t have time to be thinking such deep, philosophical thoughts, he had plans for today and none of them involved the nap he so craved, no, he knew he deserved to stay awake and suffer, to think about this over and over until he felt nothing but pain. Pain, it was such a human thing that his eyes shifted over to his impromptu pillow without prompt, wiping away the last stripes of blood on his wrist with absent movements, ignoring the pain as he lost his cautiousness.

He’d found it on the way back from Mizuki’s, it had been raining then and he was grateful for it, so thick and heavy he could barely see in front of him, pouring down in a bitterly cold sheet even at this time of year, rapidly approaching summer and days getting warmer. He’d paused to try and light a cigarette he knew wouldn’t stay lit in this downpour, ducking into an alcove in a side street and standing close to the corrugated iron doorway that looked rusted shut, lighter refusing to work and making him curse even as it finally flickered into life and flames warmed his face for just a second.

He didn’t know why he’d looked, he should have stayed there to smoke half of it, hood pulled up to conceal dripping wet blue locks and hiding from everyone, staying as invisible as he wished he was right now. He shouldn’t have let his eyes drift to the pile of rubbish bags and abandoned furniture to his right, and he especially, certainly shouldn’t have stepped out of the dry alcove to pick up the lump of fluff he saw there. At first he’d thought maybe it was a dead animal, but no wild creature had such abnormally blue fur, though it looked almost black where the rain had dampened it.

But then it was in his hands and he barely realised his cigarette had gone out after only three drags, just staring into lifeless black eyes and frowning, because he felt almost sorry for this creature, this Allmate, because he’d realised what it was now. Momentary lapse of judgement or not, he knew he shouldn’t linger long, tucking it inside his jacket where it’s fur soaked through his last layer of dry and zipping it up, shooting a cursory look around and all but running to his warehouse. Somehow the rain on his skin was reminding him of harsh hands and he felt sick, knowing even as he ran that he had fucked up, because he wouldn’t be able to leave the Allmate alone now, he’d have to fix it, and that meant going home, and he hated anything that made him feel like he belonged.

 

* * *

 

He let himself in, he always did, he had a key after all and if he was lucky maybe she wouldn’t be in, but of course fate never had worked in his favour, and she walked into the hallway the moment he eased the door shut behind him, making him stare at the doorframe exasperatedly for a second before turning and managing to be neutral.

“Aoba!” Her disbelief was obvious, but all he could do was bite his tongue so he wouldn’t immediately say something harsh, he didn’t want to be kicked out again after all, he needed his computer and his tools.

“It’s Sly,” the urge not to call her an old lady as he normally did was extremely difficult, and he was more than a little proud that he managed it, tone cold and a little biting but nowhere near as cruel as it could be. Reaching into his bag to remove the matted, poor excuse for an Allmate and show it to her, holding it close to his chest almost defensively, because for the first time in his life he wanted to protect something. “I need to fix it.”

She didn’t even seem confused, because normally when he came ‘home’, so to speak, he never gave any reason for being there, he just turned up, stayed a couple of days, spent most of the time sleeping or eating, then left again with barely any words between them. She just nodded, and offered a rather weak smile, very weak in fact, and he noticed she was leaning heavily against the wall, one exposed ankle bruised with painful looking black and blue, eyes narrowing as he regarded it.

“Are you hungry?”

He was, but he wouldn’t say that, just shrugged and averted his gaze again, taking in her long sigh and glancing at her for a second, wondering how it was that he managed to hurt everybody who was in his life. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

He nodded, because they mainly communicated silently, in shrugs and nods and sighs, not in words like normal people, because she’d get worried and he’d get defensive and then they’d fight and he hated that. He just walked past her, kicking his shoes off and leaving them messily under the stairs the way she always used to tell him off for, traipsing up the stairs, avoiding the creak of the fourth one and heading through the silent house into his old room.

 

* * *

 

 

He supposed opening up something electronic he knew nothing about and prodding into its wires with a metal screwdriver might not have been the best idea, but he only realised this when one frayed yellow wire shorted and sent a sharp jab of pain up his arm. The screwdriver rolled out of reach under the bed and he realised he’d found his first task, rooting around in his unorganised bedside table to find his soldering iron. He stared at it as it heated up slowly, wondering just why the hell the fifteen year old him had needed a soldering iron, he almost pondered if it had been his fathers, but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind, because that man wasn’t his father and never would be.

It’s central processing chip was horribly scrambled and he set his computer to scan it for virus’, hunger gnawing at his gut and knowing that he’d end up eating as messily as ever, earning the old lady’s disapproval and maybe a tut that would make his fingers twitch with annoyance. But then she was a good cook and he had to admit that, mouth watering of its own accord as he wondered what she would have made, her famous doughnuts, tonkatsu, soba soup, yakitori? He was thinking about nothing else the entire time he worked on the dog, not even thinking about what he was doing much, having shifted into auto-pilot as he did whenever he worked with anything like this, which wasn’t often these days.

It took his mind off everything, the laughter that played on a loop through his ears dying out under the gentle sounds of machinery buzzing and his computer fan spinning noisily, in severe needing of a cleaning it would never get. Thoughts of the bartender were replaced with carefully unscrewing and replacing metal no larger than his pinkie nail, needing such careful treatment that he couldn’t risk thinking about anything else but the task at hand.

 

It was done faster than he expected, although when he looked up it was dark outside and he finally registered the smell of cooking, so maybe it had been longer than he’d thought, just observing the results of the computer scan and glad to see everything had come back clear. The Allmate was an older model so there was a chance it might still not work, but he had the feeling that if he left it to dry out overnight it should be okay, fingers carding through soft blue fur and untangling it unconsciously, almost anticipating the voice that called to him up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

He was never quite sure if he liked being home and almost considered going back to his warehouse to spend the night there where he didn’t feel this suffocated, but then his Grandma went to bed early looking tired and wrinkled and old and he decided to stay. He spent too long in the bath, but then he always had, just sitting there in water so hot it seemed to tear into the still unhealed cuts on his body, getting out hours later with wrinkled fingers and bandaging himself up neatly. He knew she’d notice the first-aid kit had been touched, but she wasn’t stupid enough to ask and he was glad for that, taking another couple of clean rolls just in case and closing the bathroom cabinet to look at himself in the mirror.

His usually pale skin was pink under the heat and steam that still filled the room and his hair hung straight down from his head in dripping wet tendrils of blue, clean now of dirt and a good few shades lighter, floor of the shower covered in grit and dirt that had been encrusted into his skin. If he was nicer he’d clean it, pausing only for a second as he wondered if the old lady’s knees would be able to take it before grabbing the cloth and doing it himself, figuring that if something happened to her he’d lose his ability to crash there when he needed to.

He hadn’t tried the Allmate yet, but his limbs were heavy and his stomach was throbbing where the white wound around it tightly and he almost fell into bed, head hitting the familiar, safe pillow and falling asleep so fast if he was anywhere else he would have been confused, but this had been home once and his body still knew it.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t wake til long after noon, but then of course he didn’t, his Grandma knowing to leave him to sleep because he looked so tired every time she saw him and he’d seen the concern in her watery eyes, rolling over and eyes landing on the dog. It didn’t really suit him at all, it was small, and cute and almost girly, though he had to admit that he wouldn’t know until he turned it on what gender it was, he felt certain that it must be programmed to be female. Things like that could be altered with the right skill set, but it was a delicate, time consuming piece of work that Sly just didn’t want to undertake, the chances of fucking with something key, like speech was huge and he wouldn’t risk making it completely unusable just because he didn’t want it to be female.

He wondered for a second how you turned it on, then remembered with a roll of his eyes because he was still half asleep, just rubbing at its head absently and eyes widening in surprise as a robotic, almost musical tone sounded. Presumably the start-up noise, proved a second later as its eyes opened to show pure black, staring at each other in silence for a minute, until the Allmate fucking said his name anyway and he couldn’t hide his utter bewilderment because what the fuck was that voice?

His small, cute, _fluffy_ Allmate had the voice of a bodybuilder, deep and rich and fitting him so badly that Sly almost wondered if somehow he’d fucked it up, eyes narrowing a minute later as he realised it had said his old name, figuring it must have been transferred by the computer. “It’s Sly.”

“Apologies, I will call you Sly from now on.”

“Okay, good,” he couldn’t help but be unnerved because it would take a lot of getting used to that voice coming from such a small body, wondering what needed to be done next and figuring it needed a name. A guy’s name, since it obviously was, “I’m calling you Ren.”

“Understood.” It didn’t show any emotion at being named so absently and quickly, but then he supposed it wouldn’t, being a robot and all, frowning to himself and leaving the room in search of food, not sure if he liked it or not when it followed him and padded around the kitchen curiously. Or at least he didn’t mind until it informed him in its horribly baritone voice that it wasn’t healthy to skip breakfast, at which point he promptly turned it off and went in search of something good he could eat.

 

* * *

 

He was about to leave, bag packed and the few things he might need in case Ren broke chucked in too, couple of warm hoodies and fresh pairs of socks and underwear added in, noticing with a strange feeling that the wardrobe had several new t-shirts in it, as if the old lady had bought them for him deliberately, just ignoring the ache and stuffing two into his bag. But the issue was the location of the dog, having turned him on earlier for some conversation, trying to work out what he could do and being remarkably pleased by the extent of its functions, knowing it would come in helpful.

But of course the old lady had him, because she always had been an interfering, nosy busybody, sat on the couch facing away from him, and murmuring to him, Sly stepping closer quietly so he could hear her words and frowning as he registered them.

“Look after him for me,” she was stroking his fur, _Ren’s_ fur, dog lying curled up in her lap quite contentedly, pink tongue lolling out and far more comfortable under her touch than he ever had been, almost glaring at the sight. He wasn’t sure if he was jealous but the pit in his stomach seemed a lot like it and he was loathe to admit that he was jealous of a fucking dog, a robotic one at that.

“I will try my best,” how deep his voice was still surprised him, every time he spoke he was taken aback for a second, and when he’d first come into life and spoken he’d almost had a heart attack at how stupidly inappropriate the voice was for such a cute dog. Not that he was cute, not even a little bit. Not to mention the way he spoke, so clinical and straight to the point, Sly didn’t know if he liked it or not, it was new, he knew that, there was no trying to be subtle or anything, he just said what needed to be said then shut up.

“I have to go.” He spoke up immediately, tone cold and ruining their moment, the old lady easing herself upright on age-swollen legs, bones cracking and creaking as she made her way over, Ren nestled in her arms and small paws up on her chest. He was tempted to yank him off her, because Ren was his now, something all of his own for him to look after, he didn’t like her touching him, infecting him with her worries about him, he didn’t need another guardian.

She looked a little reluctant to let him leave, and he couldn’t meet her worried stare, watery blue eyes so concerned about him but in a far sadder way than Mizuki ever was, like she’d already given up but wished she hadn’t had to. She just nodded and handed Ren over, giving him one last, affectionate head scratch and staring at him for a second before looking up to her grandson, not looking at her and glaring off towards the front door.

“Be careful,” he didn’t know what that was supposed to mean but he didn’t appreciate her concern, just nodding because he knew by now that was the only way to shut her up, just waiting for her to express displeasure at him leaving. “You know you can come back whenever.”

“Yeah,” he knew that, he knew it every time he woke up in his warehouse and wondered if maybe he should just go back to her and some stability, to three hot meals a day and showers whenever he wanted. To all his things, his clothes, although some were shoved into the bag over his shoulder, to a place he would be warm and safe and away from people who hurt him, to somewhere he could call home. But there was a lump in his throat whenever he came through the door and a strange, prickling anxiety that filled him whenever he was here, even if it was only for a couple of hours, like he didn’t belong, and they both knew he didn’t.

He didn’t know what else to say, he’d never been good with words and he knew that saying what he thought would only make her resent him more, she’d already lost one grandson, and now she was doing whatever she could to cling onto him. So he just turned towards the door and grabbed his keys, opening it and pausing for a second in the doorway, because he knew she liked to kiss him goodbye, and as much as he hated it, he always let her.

She smelled like lavender and talcum powder, old people smells, like throat sweets and medicine and pills, he always hated it, because at this moment she always seemed so fragile, leaving his cheek burning where her lips had pressed dryly.

“Bye,” if he held Ren a little tighter on the way back, he had the courtesy not to mention it, and he could feel cornflower blue eyes staring at him until he turned at the end of the street and finally heard the front door ease shut.

 

* * *

 

It had been growing there for a while, a messy pile of green leaves, more like a weed than anything else and not much of a bother to him.  
But then it bloomed, and he didn't know how to feel about it, because it was almost pretty but he hated anything like that. He told Ren to shut the fuck up when he announced what it was, something called ‘yarrow’ apparently, because he didn’t really give a shit what it was, it didn’t bother him so he wouldn’t bother it, that was just how it worked. So why he spent so long staring at it he wasn’t sure, smoking through the last packet of cigarettes Mizuki had given him because not only did he not want them around anymore but he wanted it to hurt.

It was pretty, that was half the problem, small white blooms delicate and so soft against the harshness of their surroundings, unaware how out of place they were in his warehouse, concrete floor filthy and marked with deep scars in the jagged, uneven ground. He didn’t trust pretty things, they were devious and he knew that, he liked it when people were ugly on the inside and the outside, it was cheating to be able to mask your insides with a beautiful smile. But then he guessed it was easy enough to make somebody show their true colours, get them drunk, rile them up enough and anybody would snap, that Tio guy had been proof of that, being all good manners and obedience until he hit the right nerve and he’d lashed out.

But that didn’t matter, what mattered was this stupid patch of flowers growing up through a wide crack in the concrete, made a little deeper and spreading further every year by the icy winters and the rain that battered the island. He almost wanted to yank them out so he wouldn’t have anything nice to look at, because they were horribly distracting and he didn’t like to have anything distracting him from himself that didn’t hurt. But tearing them up and ripping them to shreds felt almost unfair, they’d managed to grow here somehow, to flourish even in these atrocious circumstances and it was almost impressive, so he knew that even as he hated them, he’d leave them be, because they were stronger than most and he appreciated that.

 

* * *

 

Ren was almost sweet in his innocence, just padding round quietly as Sly unloaded a fresh hoodie from the bag and pulled it on over something blood stained and crusted inside, preparing for bed in the most thorough way he could. He’d stolen a toothbrush and paste from the old lady and scrubbed his teeth at the sink, ignoring the filthy mirror because he didn’t much want to see himself today.

The Allmate didn’t say anything as he got into his makeshift bed and pulled the blankets close under his neck, blowing out the candle and leaving them in almost complete darkness, but a second later he heard the patter of tiny feet. Something in him suddenly felt wet and small as the ball of fur just turned round a couple of times before settling down in the crook of his neck and nuzzling into his side as if for warmth.

It was nice, to not be alone for once, but all he could do was wonder if Ren would start to resent him too if he knew what kind of person he was, if a robot could even feel such an emotion. Almost a little scared, because if he did it would only be a matter of time before he began to wish he’d never even been saved. What was funny though, was that when Ren eventually did begin to hate him, he wouldn’t even have a word to say in his own defense, because no matter how much other people hated him, nobody could despise him more than himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character Designs (Now includes more info on Tio & Kin), Updates and art- [here](http://minky-way.tumblr.com/tagged/intravenous-series)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the month delay on this guys, my mental health has been in the gutter lately and writing was really difficult, rest assured this series means way too much to me to ever be abandoned. Updates will hopefully be back to every other Wednesday now!  
> Also I accidentally uploaded this too early then took it down so I could stick to my Wednesday updates and make some edits, I'm so sorry if any of you got emails it was up then found it wasn't here!
> 
> Fic playlist- [here](http://8tracks.com/minky-way/intruded)

“So you’ve come crawling back then,” he knew he shouldn’t be mean, last time he’d seen Sly he’d upset him, made him think about horrible things he’d probably rather forget, had delved too deep and gotten too greedy for information, but still, he was angry. Sly’s answering glare didn’t exactly help, something in his face already showing that he wished he’d never gone back at all, just spitting out his words harshly.

“I don’t crawl.”

“You know what I meant,” he didn’t pause in his assault even for a second, because he was seriously over Sly’s bullshit now, it was his fault Tio wasn’t speaking to him, and his fault that he felt so confused all the time, he broke everything he touched, and the bartender was rapidly realising that he wasn’t an exemption to that rule.

He didn’t respond for a second, he just ditched his bag onto the floor of the bar and helped himself to a stool as if he’d been welcomed warmly, lighting a cigarette and staring expectantly at the bartender, as if he expected an apology or something else. “You’re pissy today, let me guess, you’re not in the mood?”

“Not really,” he objected to being called pissy, but he was right, he wasn’t in the mood for Sly’s bullshit, let alone to have sex with him, he didn’t even think he’d missed him while he’d been away, getting space or whatever the fuck it was he did.

“Hm, guess I’ll go then,” he was pretending not to look disappointed and something about it hit Mizuki all wrong, grabbing his arm hard and ignoring the flash of rage that crossed yellow orbs at being manhandled, regarding it with feigned acceptance. “Or I could stay, up to you really.”

It was raining outside, pattering against the shuttered windows with gentle sounds, pounding against the rooves and soaking everything, but Sly wasn’t bothered about that, if he wanted to leave he damn well would, it was only the bartender stopping him that had made him wonder if he really wanted him to go.

“Why do you leave?”

“The fuck are you talking about?” But he knew what he meant, it was so obvious and his throat began to close up even as he tried to spit his retort and it came out a little weaker than he’d intended, expression belying his sudden regret because he knew he shouldn’t have come back but something about the bartender kept tugging at him and he couldn’t help it.

“You can’t just run away anytime somebody gets too close to you.”

But that was a lie, he could and he would, he’d done it before, it was all he ever did, he ran from his Grandma and he’d gone to the bartender not expecting to leave with another guardian always on his back.

“I don’t have to listen to this bullshit.”

“No, you don’t. But you’re the one who keeps coming back, you’re the one that started this whole thing, don’t blame me if I’m not what you expected.”

“I didn’t _expect_ anything.” He was spitting again, lips drawn back and something about the hiss like quality of his tone reminding Mizuki of a snake, but then he was like one in other ways, mysterious and easy to slip out of your fingers, hard to keep in one place and sneaky.

“Bullshit, you targeted me, you could have left that day and never spoken to me again so easily, but you didn’t. You came back, and you whined and you pestered and you intruded on every inch of my life until I didn’t want to get rid of you. This is all your fault, did you think that when you came back I’d just let you?”

“You always have before.”

“Well not this time, you can’t just leave then turn up when you want, that’s not how this is meant to work.”

“Meant to work? This isn’t meant to _be_ anything, do you always demand this much from your fuck buddies? Explains why Tio hates you now, doesn’t it?”

He didn’t expect him to punch him, he really didn’t, so the blow came as a complete surprise, almost more of a slap than anything, hitting him hard across his cheekbone and leaving the skin a stinging, vivid pink.

“Did you just fucking slap me you piece of shit?” His teeth were bared already, because he hadn’t come back to be treated like this, to be yelled at for his slightest slip up, to be fucking hit for telling the truth for once. Rising from his stool and hands angrily curved over the edge of the bar, hackles rising and cheek stinging, because fuckbuddy or not nobody hit him and he’d beat the shit out of Mizuki without even the slightest hint of regret.

“It’s your fault Tio won’t talk to me, he told me what you said. Are you determined to ruin my life?”

“It wouldn’t take much, your teams falling apart even without my help.”

He’d turned round to run an exasperated hand through his hair because God he was so sick of Sly ruining everything, but the second he spoke he whirled around, finger raised warningly because if he so much as said another word he feared he might snap. “Don’t talk about my friends like that.”

“Not very good friends are they, abandoning you like rats on a sinking ship. So what are you going to do? Just stay here as everything falls apart? What are you going to do when there’s nobody left?”

“Maybe I’ll come to you, you know what that’s like.”

“But I don’t need people, I’m not weak like you, depending on them like some pathetic child.”

“Aoba, I-“

“Shut the fuck up, Ren!”

Mizuki blinked, comeback dying on his lips because where the fuck had that voice come from and who the fuck was Ren? “What?”

Yellow eyes narrowed as they met his, rolling irritably a second later and reaching down into the bag that had so far remained untouched and unnoticed where it lay by his side, unzipping the top fully so a furry head could poke out. “My Allmate.”

“Since when did you have an Allmate?”

“Found him a while back, he’s a pain in the ass.”

“He’s cute,” he remarked, a little surprised, because he was very cute, and seeing Sly Blue cradling a tiny, fluffy dog that looked a little like a Pomeranian but probably wasn’t, was a sight he never thought he’d experience. Lip twitching up at the side as his tail wagged happily and his tongue lolled out as he regarded him curiously, owners scowl a complete contrast and almost funny.

“He’s not fucking cute,”

“Alright, alright, fine,” he raised his hand defensively, wondering if Sly would snap at him if he tried to stroke the Allmate, knowing the answer was yes and deciding not to even risk it, despite how very cuddly it looked. “He’s not cute. So where’d you find him?”

He was suspicious, but then that was exactly what Mizuki had expected, just narrowing his eyes then answering anyway, just as he’d anticipated, “some pile of rubbish, outside that old mechanics.”

“Hm, he still worked?”

“Nah, fixed him. Figured he might come in handy.”

“You fixed him?” He hadn’t meant to sound so surprised, but then of course he was, because he knew horribly little about Sly and there was just no way he would ever have expected him to have the skills to fix something so intricate, let alone a place to do it.

“I can do things other than suck dick, you know,” he remarked, but his vehemence was feigned, constant frown softening the tiniest bit as he regarded Ren’s lolling out tongue and wagging tail, scratching at his head absently and unaware of Mizuki’s eyes watching him. Trying to figure him out because he was almost soft now, defensive of the creature in his arms and holding him close to his body, like you would something precious and delicate, the way he’d never let somebody hold him.

It was such hypocrisy, the way he seemed to treat Ren, how much Mizuki could already tell he loved him, how fast that bond had formed and how little he seemed to be questioning it, the fact that he had gone out of his way to save him yet couldn’t understand somebody doing the same for him. It was like there was one set of rules for him and one for everybody else and he stuck to them religiously, Mizuki couldn’t quite understand it, why he feared being abandoned so much, why he just couldn’t let anybody get close. He was amazed he’d even let an Allmate in, because sure they didn’t have free will as such, although that was debatable, but it was so out of character for him to let anybody or anything close, he didn’t have things worth protecting. He had the clothes on his back and maybe a packet of cigarettes if the thieving had been easy that day, he didn’t cherish anything, not even himself.

“Never said you couldn’t, so, what you here for then?”

“Something you want?”

“Not really,” he shrugged but it was true, he’d been angry when Sly had left again, because every single fucking time he got even slightly close, even understood the tiniest fraction, he was shoved away again and it was exhausting. So no, he didn’t want anything, maybe to understand him or to be let in at least a little, to be allowed to scrape away the tiniest layer of his self-defence, but asking would get him nowhere so he just turned and grabbed a bottle of vodka. “Wanna get drunk?”

“How did you know?”

“I know you,” he smiled as he responded, because yeah, he knew Sly, he knew that if he didn’t want to fuck, which didn’t seem to be the case, that his only other agenda would be to get drunk or high or most likely both, sensing the flickering of his expression as yellow eyes narrowed. It was ironic how accurate yet utterly inaccurate his comment had been, because yes he knew Sly, probably better than anybody else, but at the same time he knew nothing, like he was a creature shrouded in mystery and he had no chance of revealing the truth. He thought about it often, who he would be under the layers of false arrogance and seductiveness and rage, would he be insecure and shy like the teenager he still was, or would he really be hard and cold and unfeeling. He didn’t know, but he knew there was something inside him that scared him so much he had to numb it out with alcohol and drugs and more sex than any eighteen year old should be having.

So he poured them both a glass and topped them up with coke, shoving a pink straw into Sly’s just for his disgusted expression as he threw it at him and called him a fucking queer, knew he’d roll his eyes when he just agreed with him. He observed, and did exactly what he knew he could to keep things okay, to just cautiously toe the line where Sly felt safe to stay and where Mizuki was literally safe, because no matter what attachment Sly might have to him, there was no doubt in his mind that he’d sever it without a moment’s notice.

But then an hour passed, then two, and this was pleasant and this was nice and a hell of a lot better than getting drunk alone and thinking about how wrong everything was going, with his team, with the bar, with Tio and Sly and how everyone around him seemed to be determined to abandon him again. So he did something a little dumb, a little reckless, and he spoke up, sliding his old coil out from under the bar where it had been for nearly two weeks now, Sly’s eyes tracking the watch like device cautiously and frowning at him, starting to work out what was going on.

“I got a new coil a couple weeks back, thought you might want the old one, especially now you’ve got an Allmate,” he didn’t mention that he’d had no idea until today that the dog currently curled up on his bar existed, just quickly using it as an excuse when really, Allmate or not, he’d want him to have it.

“Why? For booty calls? Because I hate to break it to you, but if anybody’s going to be doing the calling, it’s gunna be me.”

“Well that wasn’t entirely the intended use but sure, that works,” he shrugged, because it would actually be remarkably nice to know when Sly was going to show up, now him and Tio were already on thin ice it really wouldn’t do for him to catch the pest in his apartment again. “So, you want it? I’d just bin it otherwise.”

“There’s no catch?” His eyebrow was raised a little suspiciously, but he’d already raised the coil to examine it, glancing at him for only a second before turning it on and beginning to scroll through its functions with clear interest.

“No catch, call it a late birthday present.”

“You already gave me one, remember?” His eyebrow had quirked a little dirtily and Mizuki’s ears felt warm as his memory travelled back through time to his birthday celebrations, remembering doing way too much coke.

"Fucking you doesn’t count. But anyway, it’s solar powered and it’s linked in with the islands internet.” That would remove the issue of him needing to charge it, luckily Mizuki always had enough money to afford the best coils on the market, meaning the battery life was long and it didn’t need to be mains charged like the cheaper models. The bit about the internet was kind of a lie, he was still paying the contract on it so it could actually work as a phone, with calls, messaging and internet, though it didn’t cost him much and that way Sly could actually use it. It was more like an emergency device more than anything, though he knew better than to expect Sly to ever actually contact him, or anybody else, in a dangerous situation, he liked to know the possibility was there.

“So I can watch porn on it?”

“I- I mean sure, if that’s what you wanna do,” he just chuckled a bit, because of course Sly’s first enquiry would be into something like that, and he supposed that if he wanted to use it for that then he had no problem, just grinning before he spoke. “But why do you need porn when you have me?”

He’d leaned forwards onto the bar a while ago, so when Sly shoved a hand into his face to push him away with a grimace he almost toppled off his stool, having to balance himself messily and just laughing as Sly deemed him disgusting.

 

* * *

 

 

It was nice, and that wasn’t a way anybody else would ever describe time spent with Sly, but it was nice to just be able to talk to somebody without feeling like there were hidden emotions underneath, or that he was being avoided. Sly never avoided anything, if he felt a certain way he’d make it painfully obvious, often literally, and Mizuki couldn’t count on two hands the amount of times that night Sly had whacked him in one way or another.

But at least with Sly the pain was only ever physical, and when he left Mizuki might feel a little battered and bruised, but he felt a hell of a lot happier than he had in a while, deciding not to think on that too deeply. It was fucked up, he knew that, but damn it all somehow Sly made him feel a lot more relaxed than other people, like he didn’t have to be anybody special when he was with him, he could be a fuck up for once too. So when he fell into bed a few hours later than he’d intended and less drunk than he’d been in a while, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe all this meant something more than it should.

 

* * *

 

 

Another day, another awkward shift where Tio was ignoring him and Kin was somewhat frantically trying to get them to reconcile, having seemingly no idea exactly what was going on but attempting to bond them through crappy jokes and shared conversations. But he gave up after a few dark looks Mizuki couldn’t hold back and Tio shaking his head at him when he thought the head bartender couldn’t see, watching brown eyebrows furrow as he tried to work out what was happening. He knew the basics, but then when Mizuki thought about it that was all he knew too, he didn’t quite know why Tio wouldn’t talk to him, maybe just because he felt uncomfortable now his feelings had been exposed. He needed to know though, the whole team had noticed the distance between them and he had heard whisperings that made him nervous, because people thought the events of the past had repeated themselves.

 

* * *

 

 

Tio was a good friend, and sure he was his best friend so you could safely assume so, but Mizuki knew from experience that your best friend did not have to be good at it to deserve the title, he’d had some pretty shitty friends before he met Tio. The thing with Tio, and it was a thing he often didn’t even notice, was that he was so supportive, of everything, new choices within the running of the bar, changes in appearance, anything. He could announce suddenly that he’d decided to become a drag queen, and as confused as Tio might be, he’d support him nonetheless, help him out and offer suggestions, volunteer to watch his act and be positive. Not that he wanted to be a drag queen of course, but if he suggested it Tio was certain to say what a good one he’d make.

That was another thing, another brilliant quality Tio had, he was so _nice,_ and once again that sounded obvious, because why would he be best friends with somebody who was an asshole? He didn’t know, but he certainly had been before, when he’d first left the orphanage and had been desperate to find people who accepted him, who liked him, had made friends with people who would take advantage, use him. But Tio wasn’t like that, he’d volunteer himself to help out or to take extra shifts, to help Mizuki when he needed to redecorate without making him feel guilty, would smile and laugh and enjoy himself even as he sacrificed his time for his friend. He’d almost sense when Mizuki was nervous or uncomfortable, would complement whatever he was unsure about, a new shirt, a slightly too short haircut, even that time he’d decided to bleach his hair, admittedly an awful mistake, he’d made him feel better about it.

So yes, Tio was the kind of friend he was lucky to have, but what kind of friend had he been to Tio all this time? The more he thought on it the worse he realised he’d been, because how often had he told Tio something nice just because that was what a good friend did, or helped him out with something, or done anything remotely kind? He’d been okay at first, sure, had tried to realise how a genuine friend treated you, like they enjoyed your company, wanted to spend time with you, like they actually valued you, and it had been easy to do the same back.

But then that fateful night had happened, they’d gotten drunk on Sambuca which had been an awful idea to begin with, no matter the circumstances, it was the devils liquor and they both knew that yet had done it anyway. Then came the next morning, waking up tangled in each other and with pale limbs overlapping his own, too much skin touching and with a headache that made him want to throw up even more than this situation did. He knew they’d fucked up, but Tio had just laughed uncomfortably and rolled away, onto his stomach, lying there in silence a minute later before remarking calmly enough that this wasn’t the dumbest thing either of them had done.

Even then, in the wake of a terrible mistake, something friends should never have done, he put Mizuki first, made him feel better about it all and even raised a smile, enquiring calmly as to what they were going to do now. There’d been three clear options, ignore it ever happened and never speak of it again, stop being friends, or make it a thing. The first had been the most logical and the one he’d assumed Tio would choose, flat out frowning at the second and Tio scoffing it off the minute he said it, reassuring him that at least they wouldn’t fall out over this. But the third, he’d thought it over for a minute, asked if he didn’t think it was weird, and when he’d explained that he’d done it before, and that he guessed it wasn’t too weird, he’d just shrugged and said that he was up for whatever Mizuki wanted.

Seemingly, Mizuki had wanted the wrong thing, but he’d never have imagined it would lead where it did, to this situation where him and Tio could barely be in the same room, wondering morbidly as he drained another bottle of vodka whether they’d ever get back to where they’d been before this whole disaster.

 

* * *

 

 

“Tio, could you do me a favour please?” Mizuki asked normally enough, because if he got too nervous and decided to abandon the idea, at least this way he knew he’d be able to think up an excuse to get out of it.

But he turned easily enough, and his expression was almost normal as he nodded immediately, always, _fucking always,_ putting Mizuki in front of himself, it was a little concerning actually how fast he’d drop whatever he was doing in favour of helping him instead. “Sure, what do you need?”

This was it, the moment when he tried again to get Tio to just please acknowledge his presence, to remember that they were best friends and had been for years now, to think about the fact that Mizuki knew he’d ruined things but that he was trying to fix them. His was running the tea-towel he clutched through his fingers over and over anxiously, debating how stupid this was, how much of a mean trick it seemed now he was thinking it over, but those blue eyes were still honest and open and _kind_ and he wanted them to be okay again.

“Talk to me?” But oh, he hadn’t meant to sound quite as sad and small and lonely, he’d meant to sound firm and frustrated, but then maybe he hadn’t meant for that either, he wasn’t sure, he just knew he needed Tio to talk to him again, to at least make it seem like he still cared. But his face had hardened then softened in seconds, wrinkles appearing at the bridge of his nose as he frowned again and looked away, biting at his lip uncertainly and not answering him, feeling tricked and angry with himself for still being so easy to manipulate. “Look, Tio this really sucks. I know I’ve been a complete prick but please talk to me. You’re my best friend.”

“Even after all this?” He looked uncertain of himself, words almost self-derogatory and Mizuki wouldn’t let his friend stand there and look so disgusted at himself, just sighing and finally lowering the cloth between his fingers.

“Even after all this,” his tone was firm, because no matter what him and Tio would be friends, he couldn’t stand to imagine anything else, just watching as he sighed heavily and nodded, glancing up at him and attempting a smile that died fast but was appreciated anyway. “I know I didn’t deal with this very well.”

“Neither did I, and it’s not really your problem.”

He frowned then, because Tio was clearly misunderstanding something here, because of course his best friend being in love with him was his problem too, it wasn’t like he was cold hearted enough to just ignore it, even if that was how it seemed. He didn’t feel the same way back, and he knew he didn’t and Tio did too, but he almost wanted to, things would be easier, he’d been thinking that a lot. “It really is, why else do you think I’ve been getting drunk every night?”

He blinked, expression worried for a second before morphing into sheer confusion, “Mizuki, don’t be stupid, this isn’t your fault, it’s mine.”

“It’s nobody’s _fault,_ Tio, that’s not how this works. You can’t help this, you’ve already said so, we just need to…. Get past it somehow.” How they would do that he had no idea whatsoever, but that wasn’t really the issue right now, the issue was that they just needed to try, or rather he needed to get Tio to agree to try.

“How? I mean, it’s been so long already…” he refused to meet his eyes and every second of this conversation was reminding him of how it had all gone down when they’d first started everything, and he suddenly, randomly wondered if Tio would still have felt the same if they had never fucked in the first place. He wasn’t sure if he’d feel better or worse if the answer was yes, because that would mean this wasn’t his fault, but then this situation would be the same but maybe a little better, because getting over somebody was much simpler when you’d never even had a chance to get close to them.

“I don’t know, I mean I’ve never really…” he trailed off, because he would not say ‘fallen for someone’, or indeed say anything that would be telling Tio how he felt, he alone knew his feelings for the tattooist and he refused to reveal his assumptions or label it in a way Tio might not agree with. But Tio just nodded, because he got it, Mizuki had never been in love before, sure he’d dated and been moderately serious with a couple of people, but it had never lasted long and usually they didn’t even get to the moving in together stage. “Maybe you just need to give somebody else a try.”

“Kin,” and he scoffed just a little as he spoke, shaking his head because Mizuki had already told him this and it hadn’t worked, the other just made him feel strange and cold and he wasn’t sure he much liked the nervousness that swarmed in his stomach when he was near.

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.” He countered back just as fast and Mizuki was almost surprised, but then he supposed they’d never argued before so he wouldn’t know how he was in a conflict situation, even when they’d fallen out originally they hadn’t argued, just gotten distance from each other.

“Okay, fine, I meant Kin. But he’s nice, and he likes you and it’s obvious. I’m not saying you have to date him or anything, just,” he paused, sighing out a breath because he knew what he wanted to say, what he was suggesting, but he hated himself for doing it because it felt like if he didn’t he’d lose Tio altogether. “Make a new friend, spend less time with me. We can try and fix this.”

“I’m not sure he wants to be my friend,” but he was smiling now, in that way that made his mouth lopsided and him look a little goofy and Mizuki couldn’t help but smile back too, tentatively, treading nervously through this unknown terrain.

“Yeah, well me neither but I’m sure he’ll settle for that. Just message him or something, they’re all going out this weekend, you should go too. Have some fun.”

“Aren’t you going to go?”

“No, I’ve um… Got plans.” Tio’s face changed as he said that and he rapidly explained, noticing him relax the second he did and wondering if he’d always have to be on his tip-toes around him now, to be guarded for them to still function as friends. “I need to sort out a new schedule for the bar now we’ve lost half our staff.”

“Oh okay, yeah that’s true.” He smiled again, rapping his knuckles against the bar half-heartedly and rolling up his sleeve to remove his coil, a few generations down from Mizuki’s but modern and functional enough. Opening up his messages and hesitating for only a second before he typed something out and pressed send, worrying his lip in the second he was informed it had been sent, “okay, so I guess I’m going out this weekend.”

“And you’re going to have fun, okay?” His voice was a little insistent as he walked Tio over to the door, unlocking it for him despite his own key being in his pockets somewhere, taking in the warm evening air from outside and wondering absently when spring had become summer, seeming to have missed it.

“Yes, I’m going to have fun. So… We’re cool?”

“We’re cool,” he was going to say something else but he wasn’t quite sure what, when Tio’s familiar message alert sounded, a ping rather like a microwave that Mizuki had always mocked him for, just raising a burgundy eyebrow at the speed of, presumably, Kin’s reply. “You should reply to that, and you can tell me about it on Monday.”

“Alright, I’ll see you, and, um, thanks, for being okay with this, I know it’s weird.” He made the most unusual, vague hand movements Mizuki thought he had ever seen as he spoke, like he was trying to stir the air, stopping with a quiet chuckle the moment the bartenders amused stare registered.

“Yeah yeah, go on, get replying already,” he gestured to his coil, fingers playing with the watch like device as if he hadn’t noticed he was doing it, waving him off and closing the bar door behind him feeling like things were finally working out. If he was a more intelligent man he would have touched wood for luck the second he thought that, but of course he didn’t and fate had never been kind to him.

 

* * *

 

 

The times his mind seemed to wander were always odd, when he was just swallowing down a gritty tablet, as he unwound the bandages from his stomach and examined the healing wound, when the bottle was empty and he threw it away to shatter against the wall. Always when he least expected it the thoughts seeped in, always the same, those fucking aggravating green eyes swarming into his mind and making his shaking fingers stutter in their movements.

The bastard was under his skin and he hated him for it, he couldn’t get him out, he was sure even if he shed his entire skin like a lizard he still wouldn’t manage to get rid of him, he’d cling on somehow and before he knew it he’d be stuck in this damn rut again.

How could he define it? Not a need because that was far too strong and made acidic bile rise in his throat, no, perhaps more like a craving, a desire more than anything else, just the strong urge to be near, something he could resist but would enjoy indulging in every once in a while. Indulgence, such a sensual word, to allow yourself to completely surrender to something, to let it wrap around you and muffle everything else, maybe that was why he liked the bartenders presence so much, he dimmed his surroundings just enough for him to feel okay.

He paused then, stomach rewrapped almost without noticing as his thoughts remained firmly stuck on tanned skin and muscled shoulders that he could probably draw from memory, if he was good at art anyway, glancing at the coil bracelet on his wrist. Thinking how loose it was, so close to slipping off where his fingers could easily wrap around his wrist and overlap, remembering how well it had fit Mizuki, how big his hands were and how rough on his skin. Feeling himself grow warm already with a dirty, dark, _wonderful_ idea, opening the camera app and taking a test shot, smirking in satisfaction at how good it came out, abandoning his prior plans and grabbing Ren and his bag, heading out of his warehouse and stopping only for a second to light a cigarette.

 

* * *

 

 

Giving him a coil had, in retrospect, been a terrible, _amazing_ idea, aware of the buzz in his pocket and knowing who it was immediately, the three short vibrations set for Sly and Sly only, because after all he couldn’t always answer to him right then and there, especially not now with the entire team surrounding him.

But he finally managed it, speech of farewell made and Tio ensuring everybody got drinks, disappearing into the back store room under the guise of getting more clean glasses, which admittedly was true. It was a message, a photo message, and he felt nervous already because what would Sly be sending him a picture of other than something he definitely couldn’t open in front of everyone.

There was no caption, but then it was Sly and he’d know he didn’t need one, just a fairly standard selfie of himself, though of course he was shirtless and Mizuki had only been able to admire it with a little amusement when another came through. But this one was a little more risqué, one hand low on his waist, shoving his jeans down enough that he could just see a thatch of blue hair, expression teasing and almost cute with his tongue poking out and- wait. He paused for a second, looking past the tempting image of Sly to take in the background of the picture, frowning and zooming in to what he was sure he recognised as being…

‘Are you in my fucking bedroom?’

A minute passed, then two, then another picture buzzed through and he wasn’t sure if he was pissed off or very amused as he took in the image of Sly, reclining on his bed, one hand down his pants and neck arched deliciously. He just tilted his head as if he could somehow change the angle of the picture, noticing how small and pale he looked against his black sheets, looking right at the camera and biting his lip in a way that was probably meant to be teasing but ended up being more smug.

‘Sure am.’ He barely even reacted as the message buzzed through, just rolling his eyes and not even sure why he’d bothered asking, because of course he’d have just let himself into his apartment without his permission and made himself at home.

‘You broke in then?’

‘Seems that way.’ No, this was funny he had to admit, hiding a chuckle and biting his lip absently as another image buzzed through and Jesus was Sly trying to give him a boner? Well, if he did it would only match the others, jeans shoved down now and able to see the outline of Sly’s dick in his tight boxers, humming softly to himself at the thought of the other, just one floor above him, lying on his bed and touching himself like that. ‘I’m bored.’

‘And I’m busy,’ because waiting a while wouldn’t hurt him, in fact if he was lucky by the time he was done Sly would be so unbearably horny he’d practically jump him the moment he walked through the door, and after today that was all he wanted. He was already feeling himself get a little worked up and Sly wasn’t even naked in the pictures yet, but he guessed he’d save that for the main event, or send that picture in half an hour and make him thoroughly flustered in front of what remained of his team.

‘So fuck them off and come have fun,’ the idea was tempting, as was the accompanying image, in front of his mirrored wardrobes, Sly wearing nothing but his boxers now and picture taken from above, ribs poking out as if he’d been breathing in hard and hipbones sticking out of his concave stomach, a line that looked almost like a cut sliding across his stomach but eyes too focused on every other inch of him to worry about it yet.

‘Sly, you’re killing me right now.’

‘That was the intention,’ a final image, in his bathroom, completely naked and taken over his shoulder in the mirror, bare planes of pale skin showing in the mirror that stretched across one wall, ass perky and spine curved in prettily.

‘I’ll be done in like an hour, wait for me,’ it wasn’t a question, and he had the feeling that even as Sly remained silent that he would indeed be waiting when he finally managed to escape, just hoping he could. He debated how to get out of it for a good five minutes, so long in fact that somebody came to check on him, just rolling their eyes when he closed his coil too quickly and telling him to leave his sexting til later. They were obviously joking, laughing as they spoke and clapping him on the back utterly unaware that he _had_ essentially been sexting, or had become an unwitting participant in receiving almost-nudes anyway. Not that he’d complain, in fact he knew the minute he got some time to himself he’d save them to a password protected file on his coil to look at whenever he wanted, which he had the feeling might be horribly often.

He should have been focused on the enticing nature of the images, but as he carried the tray of clean glasses back through and laughed off the jokes about him getting caught up texting ‘bae’, an awful expression if he’d ever heard one, he just wondered if anybody else had a picture of Sly. He felt like this was more of a relationship thing than a fuck-buddy thing, there was some trust implied in the sending of pictures, even if he most likely wouldn’t care if they got leaked to anybody else, and he felt a little strange about them.

After all, it was far easier to think about how bizarre it was than to remember the reason his team was there in the first place, to say goodbye to five members, Shin having joined the original four and Mizuki unable to do anything but completely understand while he was leaving. There were too many memories there for him, both good and bad, and he knew being around people who’d known Yasu, who had anecdotes about him and had been there for his death, had been growing more painful lately. So Mizuki could understand him wanting to distance himself, but the other four, the rhyme defects, as he’d been calling them secretly in his head, their reason was not one he’d accept and something in him still wanted to scream and throw a tantrum and beg for them to stay. But he was a grown up now and he’d learnt early that no amount of complaining would bring somebody back when their heart was set on leaving, when they’d never really been there to begin with, so he smiled and laughed and drank too many beers and pretended everything was okay and his chest wasn’t tearing in two.

 

* * *

 

 

Then they were really leaving and hugging him goodbye and thanking him for everything, somebody was crying and someone else had stumbled outside to throw up, the whole thing was an enormous mess by now, because people were sad when they lost members and when they got sad they got too drunk. But it was like those cliché family parties there always were in movies, where somebody got too drunk and started offending everyone, this role fulfilled by Kouhaku tonight who was now asleep in one corner and being awoken grumpily by Yuu who was presumably going to drag him home. Then there were the parent types who looked after everyone and advised them to maybe not take another tequila shot, which were, as always, Mizuki himself, and Tio, though tonight Kin seemed to be taking on that role a little, having taken a beer away from Tetsuya who was currently engaged in telling everybody he loved them a little obnoxiously.

One good thing had come from the night though, while he’d remained a little absent, deciding to man the bar for once instead of just letting his sloppy team help themselves, he’d been able to observe everything, the wild dancing of Nobu and Sora, aware he might never see it again after today, the card game Riku tried to organise that quickly died. But most interesting of all was watching Tio and Kin interact, seeing his best friend laugh and elbow him when he played a card that meant he had to finish his drink, watching the other’s face seem somehow already fond as he watched him and congratulated as he grimaced and wiped his mouth dry.

The night out had apparently gone well, or he assumed so from Tio’s exceptionally hungover state when Mizuki rang him later the next day, remarking that he’d gotten so drunk he’d had to be taken home early and put to bed. It was amusing at face value, but he’d gone on to report that while he didn’t know who’d taken him home, though it was obvious it must have been Kin, he awoke to a glass of water, painkillers and a burger he didn’t recall buying but had apparently been happy to eat cold, on his bedside table.

It was really, really nice to see Tio taking his advice and trying to make a new friend, and Kin looked thrilled at the attention, both warming to each other easily, although the alcohol may have helped, laughing and joking together as they propped somebody up in a chair they were about to fall out of.

They even left together, a good hour after Sly’s last message had come through, offering to tidy up and Mizuki promptly telling them not to because he sure as fuck wasn’t going to piss about picking up empty glasses down here when he could be upstairs fucking Sly. He didn’t say that though, he wasn’t stupid, just telling them to get home, waving them off and listening absently to them bantering about some kind of bet they seemed to have made, Kin apparently owing him a burger somehow.

“Because the one I got you last week wasn’t enough.”

“That was you! Oh my god I didn’t throw up on you did I?”

He just snorted rather unattractively as he shut the door behind them, wondering just how Tio had managed to think it could have been anybody else to see him home and take care of him like that, possibly more than even Mizuki would. He felt a little sad that the hole in Tio’s chest was being filled with somebody else, but he knew he didn’t deserve to feel like that, just hoping that their friendship would continue and he’d be free of some of the guilt that crushed his shoulders.

 

* * *

 

 

“You took your time.”

Mizuki’s responding comment was probably rather stupid and not at all what Sly had been expecting, just raising an unimpressed eyebrow and regarding him with boredom, clearly having expected a warmer reception. “You put your boxers back on.”

“Well unwrapping me is half the fun.”

“You already used that line on your birthday, you can’t use it again.” His face was remarkably blank considering there was an almost naked guy in his bed who seemingly had waited for him for over an hour, wondering briefly what he’d done. His erection was gone though and Sly didn’t seem like the type to just let it die down, shivering slightly as he wondered if he’d dealt with it right here, maybe watching himself in the mirrors and surrounded by Mizuki’s scent But then his eyes had dipped lower than his collarbones, to his slim chest and down to his stomach where the strange line had been in the pictures, not having bothered to look twice them, but now he straight up stared at it. It was a cut, well maybe a scar now, still vivid red and looking remarkably new, slicing all the way across his flat stomach above his bellybutton, left wrist bearing a matching scar that would undoubtedly match up with it were they to be placed in closer proximity.

But a sharp voice snapped him out of his concerned stupor, not realising how displeased his expression was until Sly’s yellow eyes were right on him, burning with fire, “Say something if you’re going to or stop fucking staring.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” that was a lie, he totally was, in fact he probably would now, Sly seeming to know that even as he pretended Mizuki might finally learn when to hold his damn intrusive tongue, just muttering his response and shifting position a little.

“Probably the safest choice.”

“Just… Did you do that because of me?”

“Oh please, don’t flatter yourself by making it look like you matter to me,” there was a contradiction here, because Sly was there, in his bed and offering himself up like some kind of prize, but then his words were so cold and bitter that nobody other than the bartender would want to touch him after he spoke them. Then another contradiction, and damn Sly was made of them, lying about the reasoning’s behind it, the fact he’d run again and come back with such nasty scars showed he’d done it because of some reason connected to the bartender, if not a direct result of his words.

“You know, your bedside manner really is terrible,” he kept his voice casual, unbuttoning his shirt a little more and wondering why he’d worn it in the first place, rather too formal for a simple farewell gathering, noticing Sly’s eyes follow the movements of his fingers, and ah yes, that was why he’d worn it.

“Does it matter when I’m so good _in_ bed?” There was always something horribly endearing about the way he said things like that, which made next to no sense given the sexual nature of his speech, the gentler side of his dirty talk. But maybe it was the way he tilted his head and smiled somehow more genuinely than ever, still a smirk but reaching his eyes this time and teasing instead of cruel, like a teenager being daring and feeling a rush of adrenaline.

But he just chuckled in response, fingers easily popping the buttons of his sleeves now and pushing them up over his elbows, yellow eyes watching like he was utterly fascinating and swallowing thickly as he ensured his voice gained that deeper, richer tone he knew he liked without having to be told. “I suppose not, though I might need proof of that.”

“Oh? I haven’t given you enough already?”

“Afraid not.” He smiled then, but it was small because that was a lie, and now suddenly with Sly here he felt a lot more able to relax, to allow his shoulders to sag a little and to let his smile die, trying to think of something to say when he suddenly wished he could just go to sleep. “So what was the plan, to give me a boner in front of my entire team?”

“Half right,” he inclined his head to the side almost graciously, shifting over so Mizuki could perch on the end of the bed, slipping off his trainers because he’d been so keen to get to Sly that he hadn’t even taken them off at the door. “So did it work?”

“Nearly.” He was a little reluctant to admit it, because usually he wouldn’t think that pictures would have such an effect on him, especially not ones taken in such cheesy poses, looking more like they belonged to a sixteen year old than to the experienced Sly. But then maybe it was the fact that he knew he could have him, that the pictures were for him and him alone, a promise of things to come, sender just one floor above and waiting for him, wanting him, maybe even needing him.

“Hm, I’ll have to try harder next time.”

“Feel free,” he was more than happy to receive his nudes or whatever else, shrugging and then rewinding the conversation in his head, mind catching one phrase that had been uttered as if with the intention of being ignored, picking it up and running with it. “But what was the other half?”

His smile widened then, like a Cheshire cat but twice as pleased with himself, shrugging as if casually and absently scratching at his chest as if not noticing the eyes following his every movement. “Just wanted to give you something to think about, I know you’re too much of a prude to actually enjoy porn like normal people, thought maybe you’d like something else to use.”

“How generous you are,” he grinned, but their voices were getting sultrier, the air changing a little as Sly adjusted himself again, long, slim limbs sliding across his sheets smoothly and Mizuki choosing to ignore that he was really not a prude. He also decided to withhold the information that even without the pictures his thoughts always went to Sly when he gave in and touched himself, which was shamefully often for anybody over the age of about seventeen.

“Hm, you have no idea,” he supposed that was supposed to be mysterious, but seeing as he’d literally licked Sly’s asshole, to great effect, there wasn’t much mystery left to him, not in the bedroom department anyway, and he’d given up on solving his enigma, it was exhausting and gave him a headache he didn’t need. He just yawned and rubbed his eyes, wondering just when Sly would act and unsurprised when he shifted so he was right behind him, kneeling so they weren’t quite touching, half expecting the hands on his neck to work their way down to unbuckle his pants, uncertain what was happening as they shifted to his shoulders, mapping the skin almost like he was searching for something. He just let him do whatever for now, because it always felt nice to be touched, usually regardless of in what context, and if Sly wanted to grope his back he guessed he’d let him, his thumbs suddenly pressing into a patch of skin almost hard and prompting him to speak.

“Sly, what exactly are you doing?”

“Rubbing your shoulders asshole, you’re tense as fuck. You _could_ try to be grateful.” He was never quite sure how he did it, but he managed to make himself sound like some kind of saint while at the same time cursing like a sailor, an enigmatic mixture of sweet and hard that meant he was never boring.

He just blinked, because of all the things he’d expected, a back massage was not one of them, utterly surprised not only at what an un-Sly thing it was to do, but also at how damn good he was at it, working out a knot in his shoulder and forcing him to bite down his pleased groan.

“I’ll never be able to work you out, will I?”

“Nope,” he replied almost cheerily, thumbs pressing into a spot of tension right where his shoulder met and unable to hide his almost pornographic moan of pleasure as he seemed to push the strain right out of him, humming rather smugly and talented hands moving further down. “So, lost any more team members recently?”

It was like the second he spoke he undid all his work, back rippling with indignation and almost growling as the somewhat bizarre mood snapped like a piece of celery, turning a little to glare at him, “I swear to go-“

“I know I know, ‘say anything about my friends and I won’t fuck you ever again.’” His impression of the bartender was not only awful, but a little offensive, Mizuki just rolling his eyes and deciding not to argue, it was always safer that way. “But come on, we both know that’s a lie. I’m irresistible,” he’d leaned forwards then, breath washing over the sensitive shell of his ear and words turning alarmingly dangerous, arousal spiking low in his stomach as his surprisingly cold hands slipped into his shirt, sliding over his chest muscles deliberately slowly.

This was odd, this whole thing, because the photographs had implied the usual horny-teenagers-fucking style that always accompanied their meetings, but this was like being seduced, made him feel warm in a different way, like a slow, kindling kind of burn. But while usually Sly just set him on fire, now he was anticipating kisses down his neck, soft ones though, maybe the slightest tease of teeth, but then the other was a complete bastard and utterly unpredictable so he really had no idea.

“You’re far too uptight, hm? You need to relax,” his fingers were still on his chest, rubbing down across his pecs and his chest flush with Mizuki’s back now, voice almost soothing where it rumbled lowly in his ear, lilting and changing almost musically as he hummed a question almost into his hair. “How much have you drunk?”

It was an unusual question, because Sly never really seemed to mind if he was sober, completely hammered or somewhere in between, just summoning his voice and not noticing how rough with desire it had already gone, “not much.”

“Good,” his mouth was so near to his ear that he could hear every tiny noise he made as he spoke, every single wet sound as his tongue shifted to sound out the words, fingers on his chest trailing their nails across the skin lightly. “I want you to remember this.”

Now _that_ sounded hopeful and his skin felt red hot already, swallowing and knowing Sly must have heard with how close he was, not able to feel embarrassed, “remember what?”

“Hm,” it was the slightest laugh, indulgent and soft against his skin, making the one patch of his neck his lips rested against seem icy cold while the rest of him roared with red flames. “Well you’re always so good to me, I thought it was time to repay you.”

“Sly-“ He opened his mouth to complain immediately, because he thought they’d gone over this months ago now when this whole thing first began, he’d told him then that there was no payment needed for his apparent unreasonable kindness, and the idea that he’d try to do it now rubbed him the wrong way.

“Nope, no complaining, it’s not like we haven’t done this before, hm?”

God, it was the first time ever that he could imagine Sly as something other than the cheap street hooker type, no, now he could be a high class prostitute, working out of expensive hotels with stars after their names, servicing clients in highly paid jobs and living in luxury. He’d dirty talked before, but then it had been exactly that, dirty, filthy and low down, pure smut escaping from his lips with the goal of making him as horny as possible as soon as possible. But the painfully slow burn of this, it’s enticing nature, made him want to groan in both anticipation and frustration, because somehow the slow movements of his fingers unbuttoning his shirt were a lot better than just having it yanked over his head.

“So are you going to let me do what I want?”

“That depends what you want,” just the idea that Sly wanted to do things to him was making his blood run hot, because usually it was him doing things to Sly and the other reciprocating, he wasn’t the focus of the attention, he fucked Sly and sometimes if he was lucky he’d get an additional blowjob or, if Sly felt very generous, he might finger him.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” he smiled, but then his hands withdrew and Mizuki was stupid enough to believe that they might finally be getting to it now, feeling warm everywhere but in such a different way to normal, like that one time he’d tried edging by himself and been amazed at how good it was when he could finally cum. “Now go wash up.”

Oh, well while he was being annoyingly secretive about this, his words certainly implied that some of the less common activities were going to happen, just letting the hands on his back push him off the bed, turning to regard pleased yellow eyes and suddenly, inexplicably just wanting to kiss him. So he did, and to his surprise Sly let him, pulling away fast and grimacing, though not as hard as he normally would have done, just waving him out of the room and the bartender not noticing his eyes narrow and turn almost soft as he left.

 

* * *

 

 

He could remember the first time somebody had done this to him, remembered feeling ashamed at enjoying it so much because back then he still thought it was dirty, so horrified that he’d loved it that he could never look the giver in the eye again. Though since it was a one night stand he never had to and he was grateful for that, but with time and more experience, both in giving and receiving, he’d completely desensitized himself to it, just letting himself relax into it and _fuck_.

Sly was good at this and he wasn’t entirely sure how, because tongue fucking the ass of some stranger who approached him on the street surely wouldn’t be anything but disgusting and most likely dirty in the literal sense. But then knowing Sly he had no idea whatsoever what he was doing and was bullshitting his way through it as he seemed to through so many things, seemingly good at picking up on his reactions and learning what felt good and what didn’t. Though he had to admit that right now everything felt good and he knew he must look a state, cheeks red with heat and fingers curled into his pillow case as Sly’s tongue went from soft and lapping to pointed and stiff, probing inside him and sliding slickly against his sensitive inner walls. His dick was leaking pre-come and it felt disgusting where it rested, rock hard against his stomach, trying not to whimper as Sly’s fingers kept trailing near to it, through his thatch of pubes but never quite close enough.

Not only that but when they’d first started he’d done this utterly disgusting, debauched thing where he’d let spit slip from his lips and slide between his cheeks and fuck he knew that should be the grossest thing ever but it had been somehow good and he really was a kinky bastard. His face was smooth which was for the best with how fucking close to his ass it was, glad he was never prickly with stubble like one of his one night stands who had left him with a painful rash and no desire to call him back.

Not that his mind was wandering, far from it, he couldn’t think of anything but how fucking good it felt, knees trembling and moaning into his sheets more dirtily than he probably ever had because of all the things he liked about being gay, the acceptance of rimming was his favourite. Sly’s enthusiasm wasn’t unappreciated either, alternating between wider strokes over the pink pucker of skin, then just as he adjusted he’d sharpen his tongue and shove it inside and Mizuki was sure he was dribbling onto his pillow.

When he moved away, much to his disapproval, he actually whined, rather high pitched and needily, it was embarrassing, especially as Sly snorted in amusement, but then he was just glad he hadn’t opened his mouth to beg him not to stop as he was incredibly tempted to do. Just listening to his blood rushing through his ears and feeling his heart thumping too fast in his chest, hearing his bedside drawer open and knowing Sly was looking for the lube he kept there, too exhausted to correct him now.

Sly was an impatient creature at best, and after a couple minutes rooting through his newly

organised drawer and suitably destroying it’s nicely arranged contents, he almost snapped at him, impatient as if he was the one who’d been so near to coming for so long. “Where’s your fucking lube?”

“Other drawer,” he almost panted it and wow he hadn’t realised how exhausted he was until Sly had stopped, legs almost shaking and sweat beading on his forehead, not even caring much that he was in the most undignified position right now, ass in the air and spread horribly wide open. He could feel a cool breeze over his asshole right where Sly’s saliva had yet to dry and it made him shiver even as he felt the bed shift behind him again and a finger coated in cold lube was eased inside. Gentle was not a word he’d really equate with Sly, but then he wasn’t being gentle, just strangely sort of careful, moving as fast and efficiently as always but deliberately slowing himself down the way he never let Mizuki do with him, he really was being treated and he wasn’t complaining one bit.

He found his prostate fast, not saying anything as the tattooist just wormed about in the most ungainly manner he could ever imagine, enjoying this far more than what they usually did, even if the rather odd behaviour would bother him afterwards. Two fingers now, sliding in so damn easily and crooking at just the right angle to stroke his bundle of nerves, his other hand finally, fucking _finally_ , gripping his dick, jerking into his touch and aware distantly that he should be embarrassed of how appreciative he was being. But then fuck it, Sly had said he was paying him back, and as odd as that made him feel, wasn’t it polite to show how much he appreciated it, managing with more effort than he’d like to admit to remove his face from the pillow and just moan his name.

He seemed to appreciate it, or his hand started to actually move on his cock anyway, skin burning under his touch and so slick already his fingers moved over it easily, only sounds disgustingly lewd squishing and Mizuki’s range of noises, from moans and whines to breathy pants like a thirsty dog. He couldn’t last like this, he knew it, feeling light headed where his face was in the pillow and his breathing was constricted a little, wondering if this was how Sly felt when he strangled him, trying to hold on because it felt so good he almost didn’t want to finish.

But the tricky, slippery, _wonderful_ bastard decided that then was a great time to somehow, and Mizuki didn’t even have the energy to think right now, have his tongue on his asshole and still be fingering him.

“Sly-“ His words choked off as too much saliva tried to escape from his mouth, smearing onto his damp pillowcase and across one of his cheeks as his entire body tensed so hard he felt like his arching spine would snap. “I _can’t_ , I-“

He’d definitely, without a single shred of doubt, never made a noise like the one he made when he came, nearer to a scream than anything else although even that wasn’t right, torn from his lungs and hitching desperately even as Sly’s tongue and fingers kept moving and he was shuddering all over and it almost hurt.

Then it was all over and he couldn’t handle the stimulation, gasping for breath and mouth wide open in a pant, eyes half opened and so exhausted he felt like he could have slept right there, aware of hands leaving his skin and barely hearing the laugh when his legs gave in and he flopped onto his mattress with a breathy sigh.

“Did you seriously just collapse into your own cum?” He sounded a mixture of amused, disgusted and proud, and Mizuki had to admit that proud he sure as fuck deserved to be, still trying to recover and knowing that if Sly wanted fucking now he’d be less than no use whatsoever.

“Oh God I don’t even care, holy shit Sly you’re fucking…” He felt drunk, or maybe high, oxygen just returning to his brain and making him wonderfully tingly and lightheaded, not knowing how hard he’d really been gripping his pillow until he unclenched his hands and felt how sore they were.

“Amazing, wonderful, a true god of sex?” He was bragging now, but jokingly, presumably not aware of just how far gone Mizuki had been, still was, unmoving and back heaving, lungs burning as he snatched each breath in greedily, expecting the usual sarcastic comeback and actually laughing, that pretty laugh again as he agreed absently, because fuck it all that had been amazing and he deserved to know.

“Yeah, why not.”

“So, have I paid you back adequately then?” he frowned at that, or he would if his jaw wasn’t aching from being open as it constantly spilled out moans, just thinking woozily through his post orgasm haze that he hadn’t needed to repay him in the first place, giving up on that thought and just nodding. He guessed that at the very least now he’d think his non-existent debt would be wiped, so maybe he’d stop having these stupid ideas that he owed Mizuki anything, and that could only be a positive step. “Good.”

His answer was flat and neither pleased nor displeased, standing from the bed and seemingly intent on leaving the room, pausing as Mizuki croakily addressed him, rolling over and unashamed of how fucking wrecked he must look. “Wh-Where are you going?”

“To shower, you should probably come too, well, I mean you’ve already cum, but…” He grinned at his own joke and that was a little sweet, Mizuki managing to sigh and closing his eyes for a second, sitting up with aching arms and knowing his legs would be shaking like jelly the minute he attempted to stand up. “You’re pretty dirty.”

“Speak for yourself,” he managed to smile, sliding his cramped legs over the side of the bed and regarding his disgustingly filthy sheets with a grimace, knowing there was no way he could sleep in them like that. “Just give me a minute.”

“Whatever,” he just shrugged one bare shoulder, strolling out of the room casually and wiping his cum-stained hand over his stomach with a movement that had Mizuki swallowing hard even as his exhausted dick couldn’t so much as twitch.

 

* * *

 

 

He felt like an old man as he staggered into his shower, leaning heavily on the doorframe and too focused on regaining the strength to stay balanced to take in Sly, naked and showering with seemingly little worrying about it even though he knew he might never get this opportunity again. He didn’t remark on his inability to stand without one hand on the glass shower wall, throwing him the shower gel instead and looking amused when he barely managed to catch it, hands flailing uncoordinatedly. He just managed to wash himself, albeit very badly, knowing he’d shower in the morning anyway since the idea of changing his sheets was too much and he thought he’d just throw a towel over the worst of it and sleep there anyway, rinsing himself off and one of his knees threatening to buckle.

It was pure pride that had kept him upright so far, and as Sly turned to regard his legs, thick with muscle but trembling like he’d just done a hundred squats, he decided he didn’t give a shit, just laughing a little derisively as he spoke. “God I can’t even stand,” his legs were shaking too much and he quickly gave up, feeling weaker than ever as he just ended up kneeling on the floor of his shower, completely naked and only registering that Sly had an erection when he wandered over.

“Well while you’re down there…” His grin was a little lopsided and Mizuki wondered if that was because he was genuinely amused by his dishevelment, or because his eyes were playing up as exhaustion set in, trying to grin back because the least he deserved after that was a blow job.

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t take long despite how much his jaw ached now, feeling his fingers trembling on his hips and unable to coordinate his movements, just relieved that Sly must have been pretty damn horny already, or getting himself nearer while he waited for Mizuki. Shower water filling his mouth more than once and having to move back to allow it to dribble out, feeling like he was drowning when he finally swallowed him down fully and gag reflex as lazy as the rest of him, breath barely catching. Then the hands in his hair, and if he’d been more conscious he would have been aware of how soft they’d been this whole time, were pulling a little hard and bringing him back to now and he was groaning low and slutty as he came, warm and salty into his mouth.

He looked distinctly unimpressed when he spoke despite his chest heaving a little more than normal, watching Mizuki wash his mouth out with water and walking to the enclosure door, grabbing a towel and beginning to rub his hair dry rather hard. “That was sloppy.”

“Your fault,” Jesus fucking Christ he was exhausted, managing to retort but not very strongly or with any kind of emotion other than genuine honesty, because if Sly had wanted a good reward for his good behaviour he shouldn’t have wrecked him so thoroughly.

“So ungrateful. But don’t worry, we’ll be back to normal by tomorrow.”

It was unusual that he was specific with dates, or referred to them as ‘we’ as if they were some kind of unit, so to hear him remark that not only did they have a level of normality, but that he also planned on returning the very next day was unusual. “Tomorrow huh?”

“Yeah, so wash your bedding, asshole.” Why he threw the towel at him, he wasn’t quite sure, just watching it get soaked before grabbing his clothes from the countertop, and when they’d gotten there Mizuki wasn’t too sure, pulling them on and lighting a cigarette right there in his bathroom, smoke swirling into the air to join the hot water steam. “See you later, dickhead.”

He probably didn’t hear his response, just managing to drag himself upright and turn off the shower, drying himself incredibly ineffectually before all but falling into bed, ignoring the dampness soaking through the towel he’d laid down and unaware his red hoodie was missing until the next morning.

 

* * *

 

 

Gratitude was not something he experienced, ever, yet the only way he could describe the way he’d treated Mizuki tonight was by using that same word, that he’d _treated_ him, made it about him when this whole thing had been for Sly from the very start. But there was something addictive about watching somebody else come unravelled, watching weeks of tension and stress fall from their shoulders with the slightest flick of his tongue or twist of his fingers that just made him think it had all been worth it. And the way he moaned his name, damn, he was glad now he’d set his coil up to record it even if all he’d captured on video was the ceiling because he’d accidentally kicked the damn thing over, just knowing he’d listen to that over again and again. Nobody ever said his name during sex, ever, or when he sucked them off, they came with a grunt or silently, there was never any acknowledgement that he owned the lips that had just worked them so good. But Mizuki always said his name, without fail, he’d heard it angry and tense, amused, fond, exasperated, aroused, impatient, but he’d never heard it whined like Sly was the only thing he needed in that moment. It was addictive and sure he was used to that, but not like this, never like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr @ [minky-way](http://minky-way.tumblr.com)  
> Character Designs, Updates, Ficart and other things of interest- [here](http://minky-way.tumblr.com/tagged/intravenous-series)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic playlist- [here](http://8tracks.com/minky-way/intruded)

He’d never seen him look anything but put together and well composed, so to regard him stood there nervously, shifting his hair out of his face and eyes crinkled at the corners was a little concerning, pausing in his task to watch him. He’d just arrived, so to Mizuki’s knowledge nothing should have happened yet to cause any kind of concern, unless it was a personal issue of course, in which case he wouldn’t want to pry, especially since they barely knew each other. But his eyes flickered back to the front door a couple more times and even as he clocked in and ditched his bag and jacket in the cloakroom he seemed on edge, personal issue or not, he’d be useless working like that.

As much as he’d like to stay out of his business, except where Tio was involved of course, he had to ensure he’d actually be helpful to them, there were always a lot more accidents when people came to work in bad moods and he did not want to step in broken glass again. “Kin, what’s wrong?”

He hesitated for a second, looking a little queasy and giving the bartender a suspicious look he wasn’t sure he appreciated, narrowing his eyes as he didn’t answer instantly, “there’s two Yakuza outside, they said they wanted to speak to you.”

“Yakuza?” His surprise was very obvious and even Kin looked nervous if not a little relieved that he was confused too, glancing over to the door where they presumably lingered, Mizuki pausing then nodding, wondering what was going on and hoping this was more a social call, to keep up appearances rather than anything more unpleasant. “Okay, I’ll deal with them, go help Tio with inventory.”

He seemed a little reluctant to leave, which was a surprise given how pleased he always was to spend any time with his right hand man, but then the presence of Yakuza always put everybody on edge, not to mention that his reluctance might be down to sheer nosiness, but he nodded and left anyway.

 He paused in front of the door though, wishing it had windows in it so he could look out and see if he recognised them as Yakuza with bad reputations, because he didn’t want any trouble but it always seemed to find him. The issue wasn’t with their often thuggish behaviour, but just how on edge they put him, he straight up didn’t trust them at all, they were brutal and took what they wanted and he hated people who used their power badly.

“Gentlemen, how can I help you?” He nearly choked on his words as he took in bleached blonde hair and matching but somehow mismatching plaid suits in awful shades of pink, green and blue, suddenly recognising them as the bouncers from Grime and feeling his skin turn cold and clammy with fear.

“Good afternoon, Mizuki-san, I’m Virus and this is Trip. May we come inside? We don’t like to conduct business in the street,” while that may not have been a preference of his, his sidekick, friend, twin, whatever, didn’t seem to care, standing there silently like some kind of human threat, clearly the brawn to the others brain.

“Of course,” he smiled but really he knew that if he were braver he’d tell them that no, he didn’t allow Yakuza scum into his bar, but he didn’t need any more enemies so he just watched them step inside, the glasses wearing one sitting down neatly on a chair and smiling serenely, a little like a snake. “What is this about?”

“We’d like to make you a proposition, we know your team has been losing members lately and we’d like to help you gain them back.”

“Okay,” he sat down opposite him, wanting to squirm and suddenly wishing he’d told Kin to stay, feeling strangely vulnerable under those matching, unnatural icy-blue stares, colder than he’d ever seen eyes before and almost as artificial seeming as their hair colour. “Tell me more.”

They both smiled and he felt chilled right to the bone even as they shared a brief look and went into their plan, bartender feeling more and more like he’d made a mistake as that thin, dangerous smile remained steady on his face until he shook his hand and prepared to leave.

But then Virus, and honestly they had such stupid names, stopped, hand on the wood and glasses glinting as the sunlight outside hit them, his partner’s eyes seeming to bore through him as he spoke.

“Next time you come to Grime I advise you drink less, things can get awfully messy,” it was a throwaway comment, an amusing little addition to the conversation, but Mizuki couldn’t even summon the words to deny that he’d ever been to Grime, just nodding and watching them leave. He knew they’d recognised him, both now and on the night and he felt like that was a terrible mistake, but something in his words, in his tone and the cadence of his voice made him feel like it had been another politely worded threat and he felt sick as he locked the door.

 

“Mizuki? Why were the Yakuza here?”

He barely registered Tio’s words, and in fact he felt a little faint, just snapping back as a hand waved in his face and he realised how bizarre he must be acting, knowing he needed to keep this to himself, they’d told him as much. “Oh, nothing, just keeping up appearances, you know how it is. Friends in high places and stuff.”

“Are you sure? You seem…” He didn’t know how to finish his sentence, and honestly? Mizuki wouldn’t be able to finish it for him either, because he felt such a mixture of things he couldn’t really identify much other than overwhelming dread, feeling like things were going to go wrong for him again somehow.

“Nah I’m good, you know I don’t like Yakuza,” luckily Tio knew when to drop things, just nodding along and clearly not believing a word of it even as he dug his hole deeper by continuing to speak as he headed back into the stock room basement, Kin’s blue eyes following his movements and looking as suspicious as Tio. Honestly, it was like they were in cahoots already. “Just having to pretend to be all friendly with them makes me sick, but it’s best to be on their good side, they can be strong allies.”

Kin was rummaging through an unorganised box of seemingly mouldy coasters, wondering why on earth they even had them when he’d never seen one used, top of the bar and all the tables covered in ring marks from wet glasses. “Allies for what?”

“Oh all sorts, somebody broke in to my apartment a couple years back and tried to kill me, couple of Yakuza’s tracked down the guys who did it. They haven’t caused any trouble since, though, it’s best not to think into that too deeply.” What they had done to his attacker he had no idea, deeming it better not to know and not to ask either, just thanking them and promising his teams cooperation in anything they might need, despite how nervous that made him. “Somebody goes missing or you need hooking up with an information broker, they’re people you need to know for stuff like that. They’re not trustworthy or usually very nice, but…”

“It’s good to have powerful friends,” Kin finished the thought that had trailed off, nodding before promptly changing the subject, holding up the box of soggy coasters and watching both Tio and Mizuki grimace. “Bin?”

“Bin.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was a matter of pros and cons, a simple list should be drawn up with two columns, positives and negatives, then he’d be able to decide logically, or at least that was the reasoning behind it anyway, but that was not how life worked and he was rapidly realising this. The real issue was that while the positives column was far fuller than the negatives one, he couldn’t help but deny that something in his gut was still warning him not to take the offer, that it was too good to be true and things like that tended to be risky. Plus he didn’t trust the Yakuza one little bit, that had in fact been the first point he’d written down in the pathetically empty column he couldn’t stop staring at, wondering if maybe he should find somebody who knew more about the Yakuza and ask them their opinions of the twins. Or maybe somebody on his team had dealings with them, or at least knew somebody who had, that way he could hear from somebody he trusted what their reputation was, knowing it couldn’t be too amazing since they were bouncers at Grime, a notoriously scummy nightclub.

He sighed, lowering his head onto his dining table and frowning as the paper stuck to his head unpleasantly, just turning so his cheek was pressed into the soft wood and wondering what the hell he was meant to do, how was he meant to make this decision alone? He supposed he should really ask Tio his opinion, but he never quite understood what the team meant to Mizuki, sure he knew he saw Dry Juice as family, but he never really understood why, talking about his childhood, or lack of, hurt enough as it was, whether it was discussing it with a friend or a total stranger.

He didn’t want to risk losing everybody around him, not the people who he considered family, he’d finally found a place he belonged and felt wanted and safe and surrounded by people that loved him, he’d do almost anything that would keep them with him. They were the only family he had and the only one he ever would, his biological parents had abandoned him as a child, in his Babygro on the steps of the orphanage without so much as a note, not even a basket or a blanket to keep him warm. He’d had nothing, no past, no start point to grow from, he didn’t even have a name, he’d been named by the worker who found him, beautiful moon his name meant, and the last name had been more of a nickname he’d adopted for himself.

His fingers raised absently to touch the skin where his teardrop tattoo lay, inked into his skin and vibrant to this day, sighing as he remembered the meaning behind it, remembered reading about criminals in America getting prison tattoos of teardrops either when they’d killed somebody or in memory of somebody lost. It was there on his face for all to see, the visual reminder there for him every day that he’d been abandoned by his family, that they had all but died in his eyes and he wouldn’t let the same happen to Dry Juice.

 

* * *

 

 

Mizuki meant less than nothing to him, but he'd let him kiss him, open mouthed but slow and sweet and ever since he couldn't stop touching his lips. Honestly who did he think he was? A Disney princess? No, if anybody was the princess here it was Mizuki, but even that didn’t really work and they’d already established Mizuki was the knight in shining armour, come to save him from terrible decisions and bad drug highs.

But still, there was where the metaphor fell apart, for him at least, because he was no damsel in distress who needed saving, yet the bartender had already saved him so many times, from other people, from himself, from the whole island and the world. But the one person Mizuki couldn’t save him from, was Mizuki, and Sly didn’t quite know how to feel about the fact that he felt like he needed saving from that, that he needed saving at all. He managed alone, he always had, ever since he could remember, since his parents left and his Grandma got colder and he got wilder, he didn’t have friends, or a family or a place to call home, and that had always been fine, but now he was questioning everything and he hated it.

He felt sick when he thought about it, maybe even sicker than when he thought about Scratch, though maybe it was a different kind of sickness, because this, the bartender, Mizuki and Dry Juice and everything that surrounded him, made a slow, creeping nausea spread up his stomach and choke him with acidic bile that one day he knew would burst free and leave him empty.

It had been so stupid, so incredibly foolish and strange, but he had done it anyway, had told himself and the bartender it was just to repay him for kindness he should never have even admitted to appreciating, should never have needed to show appreciation for because he didn’t need it, want it or deserve it.  It wasn’t even planned, he’d gone there for the usual, admittedly with the cheeky addition of a few near nudes and maybe some dirty messaging, he hadn’t meant for the bartender to walk in so calmly and smile at him with that odd warmth, he hadn’t meant for his chest to get tight or to feel so comfortable under his gaze.

It was Mizuki’s fault, he was sure of that even as he knew he was lying to himself again, for the millionth, billionth time, it was entirely his fault for being so domestic, for slipping out of his shoes and loosening his shirt so calmly, like anybody might after a long day, like he was in the company of a friend, like he could relax around him and be himself and be comfortable an feel like he was-

But his mind choked on the word home because he didn’t know what it was, he had never really known, but it was like his soul still had faint traces of how it had felt, could remember breakfasts eaten in pyjamas and with wet hair from his bath, could remember family, a mother and a father and a Grandma who all loved him. Could remember how it felt to have somewhere to go back to, to have smiles and kisses and to be squished up against other people to watch TV, he’d always ignored things that hurt, and he knew that, but these memories were tinged with something other than pain, nostalgia, melancholy, a sort of wistful longing he didn’t like feeling, that made his chest tight and his body feel heavy.

 

But he needed to stop thinking about it, he needed to roll over and pull the hood of the jacket he’d stolen over his head and try not to let the scent of Mizuki affect him at all, not the way it had when he’d jerked off in his bed, and not the way it did whenever he was near enough for him to catch it in subtle, delicious waves. It wasn’t the smell that was helping him fall asleep safely, limbs relaxed as they never usually were and neither hand curled up around the knife he kept under his pillow, it was just the warmth of the fuzzy lining and the extras layer keeping the gentle chill of a summer night away.

 

* * *

 

 

“Sly, wake up,” he knew that voice, slipping his eyes open to meet warm, happy green, groaning comfortably and just snuggling back down into the sheets, soft against his bare skin and sliding as he shifted his legs so he could sit down on the edge of bed. Shutting his eyes as if trying to get back to sleep, as if he hadn’t slept well all night with another body nearby, curled close into his own and legs just touching, sensation of rough fingers shifting hair off his cheek and forehead the only thing that made him reopen them. Face above his not meeting his gaze, just absently playing with his hair, running the rough pads of his fingers across his cheek and down onto his neck, stroking into the long hairs behind his ears, tickling just the smallest amount.

Breaths soft and calm, relaxed in the gentle morning light, tilting his face into the touch unconsciously and humming as the briefest scent of coffee wafted into his nostrils, rich and chocolatey, hand withdrawing too fast and making his stomach jerk for a second.

“Come on, I made you breakfast,” he knew he had to get up then, but he didn’t much mind, firm body meeting his and a heavy, reassuring arm draping around his waist, tilting his chin up and kissing him, open mouthed and sweet, taste of mint the slightest tang on his lips when he moved away. “Don’t get cold.”

There was something wrong there but he couldn’t quite register it, more a slip up than anything, brushing it off and time slipping by as he shoved on clothes and used the bathroom and stayed warm and followed the smell of crispy bacon and buttery toast. His plate was next to his, his chair already pulled out for him and a mug poured, but he sat on his lap instead just because he could, wrapping arms around his neck and waiting for him to swallow his coffee before he kissed him.

But he pulled away too fast with a frown and as Sly looked around everything seemed tinted blue, contentedness fading away and watching as the soft light filtering in through the windows faded out, substance crawling across the glass and into the room without them shattering.

“You’re so cold,” but when he turned back, to see him again, to ask what was going on and to get his smile and those warm hands back on his waist, but his breath caught hard and he could feel himself falling as he grabbed the table to steady himself and the travelling frost stopped where his fingers met the surface. Lips that had been on his, so tender now blue and frozen solid, standing suddenly to get away because something was wrong and everything was freezing over except him, slipping on the icy floor and falling down, down, down.

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t cold when he woke up, in fact it was warm, as warm as his dream and for the briefest, nicest moment his brain played a cruel trick on him and he half expected the owner of the scent that clung to him to tell him softly to wake up. But of course he opened his eyes and it wasn’t soft green that met his gaze, but the blank, corrugated iron roof of his warehouse, just lying there a moment longer, staring at it and blinking silently, feeling the sweetness of the dream trickle away and waiting for the numbness to return as it always did.

There was something warm on his face and his asshole of a brain just decided to trick him into thinking it was fingers for a second, not believing it’s lies and raising a hand to it, tasting the salty moisture on his tongue and just blinking hot tears out quietly. His mouth twitched into a smirk he didn’t even believe, because of all the times to cry he’d choose now, after nothing more than a bad dream, not after Scratch or a beating or anything, he chose now to cry and wasn’t that just a sign of how broken he was, body and mind. It would have been funny if he’d been able to summon any emotion in that moment, sniffing absently as his nose threatened to run and feeling his hair and pillow begin to grow damp, collarbones unpleasantly sticky where the moisture dried in the warm summer air.

There was a breeze coming into the warehouse through one of the broken windows, carrying the scent of mown grass and flowers, thick with pollen and the rays of sunlight dappling the large room with soft spots of light. His chest felt a little tight and he had to struggle to pull in his next breath, sucking in deeply and still not feeling like he’d gotten quite enough oxygen, blaming the warm weather for his thick throat and non-existent allergies for his tears. It had been like having everything torn away from him again, like being returned to a safe moment in the past only to be flung back to reality with a scream of displeasure as he found himself here again, in his lonely warehouse with only Ren for company.

He’d always found mornings to be significantly less depressing than other times, so now finding the same thick blanket of indifference and emptiness cast over them made him feel a little trapped, realising absently he didn’t want to get out of his makeshift bed even as he knew he didn’t have to. Absently debating drifting off again only to close his eyes and be assaulted with the dream, the warmth and the sudden overwhelming sensation of cold, yellow shooting open and remaining that way because it was safer.

“Hey, Ren, what did you say those flowers meant again?” The language of flowers had never meant anything to him, flowers were stupid enough as they were, they had no purpose except to look good, you couldn’t eat them or use them for anything much, so applying meanings to them seemed worse than pointless. But still there was that one stubborn patch growing in the furthest corner from him, pale green leaves stretching upwards towards the light that would help them grow and adequately watered every time it rained through the leaks in the roof. He knew Ren had told him once already and he’d told him to shut up, and he wasn’t really interested, he’d just like something to take his mind off the dream, off the memories of being comforted when he’d woken up crying years ago in an actual bed and with a home, to take his mind off how suddenly lonely he was.

The Allmate turned to regard him lazily, stretching his body out in the beam of sunlight he’d been lying in, tongue lolling out as if to cool himself down, not commenting on his wet cheeks or the fact he must be tracking his bodily reactions even as he turned to look at the small white flowers he meant. “Yarrow, said to be the Devil’s favourite plant, it symbolises war.”

He sighed quietly, turning onto his side and reaching for the dog who happily wormed into his arms, letting his master stroke shaky fingers through his fur, feeling silkiness under his fingers and murmuring almost to himself even as he saw Ren’s ears prick up at the words, “war, huh?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey.” It was a calmer greeting than he usually gave and he had nothing to blame it on except the still lingering sense of unease that had permeated everything since that morning, feeling oddly nervous as he slipped onto a stool at the empty bar and regarded the paint Mizuki was applying to the drinks shelves that were built into the wall.

He just glanced over his shoulder, sticking the brush back into the paint and continuing his job, carefully running the white coated bristles along the wood, presumably fixing where it had chipped and flicked off, smiling vaguely in his direction and waving with the hand that held the small paint can. “Hi, Sly, I didn’t think you were coming round, it’s pretty late.”

“Got bored,” he was squirming on his stool, _squirming,_ and that in itself was weird, only then looking away from tanned skin flecked with paint in more than one colour, frowning as he realised the entire bar was being redecorated, tables and chairs huddled in the middle and covered with dirty sheets. How he hadn’t noticed immediately wasn’t apparent, but he’d been distracted all day so he supposed he could blame the stupid activity of his brain on his ability to be more than useless. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Painting,” he replied calmly, turning round finally and placing the brush neatly on a piece of plastic that lay on the bar, similarly protected by sheets that Sly’s fingers had touched without even registering that it wasn’t the usual firm polished wood. He just rolled his eyes absently, not snapping at him as he normally would, only realising how stilted he was being when olive eyes in crinkled sockets came to stare at him a second too long before he looked away and securely put the lid back on the paint, using the butt of a screwdriver to knock it on firmly. “We’re redecorating, doing the whole place up, it was looking a bit tired.”

He paused again then, eyes flitting to his fingers, drumming an erratic and not entirely conscious beat onto the bars surface, twitching a little and yellow eyes flickering about bizarrely, wondering for a second if he was high then finally getting a glance at his pupils and realising he wasn’t. “Though, it’s not the only thing, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

But even that was a half-hearted attempt to be himself, coming out weak and so unbelievable that even he couldn’t deny he was being weird, finally admitting, even if only to himself, that he was really not okay at all, in fact he felt like he was drowning.

“You look tired.”

"Could you stop?" His voice was harder this time and he silently praised himself for managing to sound at least a bit pissed off, feeling that horribly soft gaze return to him, confused now and nose crinkled at the top in a way he was sure he shouldn’t be noticing.

"Stop what?" he looked genuinely baffled, because he wasn’t doing anything, hell he wasn’t even near to Sly let alone able to do anything that might distress him, his posture somehow different today as he almost muttered his response, seeming smaller and younger than before even as the bags under his eyes and the nicotine stains on his fingers showed he was anything but a child.

"Pretending to care about me."

"Who said I was pretending?" His words were firm, honest, because he’d admit to caring for Sly, how could he not after seeing how much trouble he got himself into, after understanding how broken he really was under his hard shell, after understanding how much he needed Mizuki’s help, maybe more than anybody else on this island, just smiling as he grimaced and stuck his tongue out childishly.

"Ugh."

He let them wait in silence for only a moment longer, watching as Sly lit up a cigarette and took a deep inhale, calming his fingers and giving him something to focus that strangely distant stare on, like he was looking right through everything, like he had something on his mind. “Hm, you want a drink?”

“Why else would I be here?”

He didn’t respond to that, smile dropping a little and knowing Sly had seen even as he averted his eyes, something akin to shame on his face although Mizuki knew he must be mistaken, heading into the back of the bar to retrieve a bottle of vodka from the tattoo parlour where they’d been stashed in one corner. Clinking bottles doing nothing to remove him from his thoughts, sorting through the plastic containers the drinks were in, eyes unable to find the bottle he located easily every night, having to stare at the bottle tops for longer than normal before he finally found it and slid it free, grabbing two glasses on the way back and opening the powered-off mini fridge to find coke and some beer for himself.

 

* * *

 

 

There was something wrong with him, which had been obvious the moment he knew of Sly’s reputation yet hadn’t thrown him out, had continued to be kind and stupid and foolish, had allowed the brat to worm his way into his life. It had been evident for a while that he had some kind of mental imbalance, that was the only way he could explain his fondness for the Rhymer anyway, anything else was too deep and too emotionally rooted in his psyche for him to dare even try and uproot it. It was incredibly obvious that he must be cracking up as he found himself staring at his coil the evenings he didn’t turn up, wondering whether to message him, not even for sex, because he damn sure got plenty of that, but more for some company.

He and Tio were okay now, but things were still on thin ice, and with his own suggestion to try and befriend Kin, he was almost never around, not to mention that his apartment was now basically off limits, because coil or otherwise, Sly never did like to broadcast his arrivals. But then Sly would be back, whenever and however he wanted, strolling into the open bar and ignoring the glares, ordering a bottle of vodka and paying with a messy handful of coins and notes, scrounged up fuck knew how and dumped onto the counter. Something in him would suddenly grow warm and he was almost glad everybody else hated him so much as it meant he was the one who got to take his order and deal with him.

The issue, aside from the fact that this entire life was one huge mess, was that he recognised the unfamiliar warmth, the prickling of his consciousness whenever he knew Sly was near, the way he felt somehow unable to function the way he always did when he was around. He’d always liked Sly, that was obvious, he didn’t feel any need to keep people around he didn’t enjoy the company of, so if he’d found him insufferable he would have thrown him out of his life months ago now. No, he might occasionally be unbearable to be around, but mainly his company could be described as pleasant, and sure he had to guard his words a little so as not to start a conflict, but he could do that without even thinking now.

But he refused to give a name to whatever it was, because it couldn’t be more than friendship, and after all, who didn’t enjoy making a new friend? Based on Tio and Kin he had to admit that he and Sly were different, but as he frequently had to remind himself, Sly Blue was not a normal person, not in any sense of the word, so it made sense their relationship, if he could even call it that, would be difficult to define or to confine to one set title.

 

“Oi, dickhead, ignore me one more time and I’ll break your fucking jaw.” But of course, Sly, the sweet, lovely individual he was, didn’t let his mind wander for too long, scraping his nails down his arm hard enough to draw blood and bringing him back to reality with a bump. “Fuck are you thinking about that’s more important than me?”

He didn’t bother to answer his question, jerking his arm back instinctively and examining the marks, tanned skin scraped off in tiny white flakes and pink, raised lines already showing where he’d decided it was a wonderful idea to mimic a cat. There were a couple of tiny beads of blood and he wiped them away absently, noting yellow eyes following the streak of red across his exposed forearms, tongue darting out for a single second before he broke the gaze and poured himself a new drink instead. He kept his voice casual, because he knew the best way to insult Sly was to make it sound like a calm observation rather than a jab at him, he seemed to have a remarkably fragile ego despite his outward appearances, and Mizuki wanted tonight to stay as calm and relaxed as it had been thus far, minus the arm scraping incident, of course. “You know, you’re quite full of yourself.”

“Hopefully later I’ll be full of you instead.” They were, it seemed, both remarkably good at ignoring things they didn’t want to hear, Mizuki just snorting a little derisively, marvelling at how just a few months ago that would have not only embarrassed him but made him a little concerned at just how provocative Sly was, and how calm with it too.

“Don’t push your luck,” he remarked, turning to grab himself another beer, because he was trying to cut back on drinking now everything seemed to be working itself out again, knowing it would be all too easy to spiral into a bad habit and fuck everything up more. So Sly had his vodka as always, and Mizuki stuck to his ‘weak-ass drink’, ignoring the fact that those yellow eyes were judging him, no doubt thinking he was pathetic, an opinion he’d already voiced upon arriving. Mizuki knew he wasn’t an alcoholic, because alcoholics were completely useless and he’d like to think he still had some purpose to carry out even if it was as bland as serving people drinks, but alcohol dependent? He could be and he knew it all too well.

“Alright, _princess_ , relax, I won’t warp your precious little mind.”

“Did you just call me princess?” he was, for the first time in a while, genuinely taken aback, a wonderful mixture of amused, disbelieving and offended by the insult, or he supposed it was an insult anyway, shaking his head suddenly and remembering his nickname from all those months ago. “What happened to Prince Charming?”

“Eh, you haven’t done anything to earn that title.” He felt nothing but pleased about that, because the reason he’d earned it in the first place was because he’d had to intervene and save Sly’s life, not for the first time and probably not for the last either knowing his ability to piss off everybody around him. So as long as the nickname wasn’t brought back, it meant Sly wasn’t back out on the streets with his foul mouth and a death wish, though he couldn’t help but wonder just how he’d managed to avoid the beatings he seemed so prone to receiving. A small, rather arrogant part of himself instantly thought that it must be because of him, but the logical part of him knew that even if he was a factor, Sly sure as hell wouldn’t be aware of it, and would never admit it even if he were.

He just nodded slowly, debating his next words carefully before deciding to blow caution to the winds and just ask, posing his query calmly, as if it was just a passing wonder instead of something that had been weighing heavily on his mind. “Sly, do you know any Yakuza?”

“Few of em,” he remarked, shrugging as he swallowed another mouthful and relit his cigarette where it had gone out, frowning at it even as it roared into life again and smoke began trailing into the air, mixing headily with the paint fumes. “Why?”

“I had a run in with a couple of them the other day. Virus and Trip, you know them?”

He paused for a second, voice tentative as he responded and fingers steadily moving on his cigarette as he watched it, Mizuki’s eyes narrowing because something about his demeanour had changed the tiniest bit but he couldn’t work out how. Tone a little stilted and way more laid back than he ever was, something about him sharpening, becoming alert and nervous as if a threat had just appeared, eyebrow twitching as he nodded slowly. “Yeah, I know them. What did they want with you?”

“Said they could help me get some members back.”

“Hm, sounds like a good offer,” he was lying, Mizuki knew he was no stranger to that and he also knew how good at it he was, eyes narrowing as he watched him stub out his cigarette before it was fully done, lighting another immediately and fingers playing in the flame he created, lingering for a little too long as he spoke again and flinching as his digits came away pink and sore.

“I don’t trust them.”

“They’re Yakuza, of course you don’t,” he seemed amused now but Mizuki could see him getting worked up, could sense him become filled with electric tension and wondered if maybe he’d snap, wonder how he knew Virus and Trip and why he seemed to have such an issue with them, badly hidden, or otherwise. “Besides, they’re bouncers at Grime, of course I know them. D’you think they recognised you?”

“Yeah. They definitely did, they said so.”

Just more proof Sly was ruining his life, glancing around the bar absently and wondering if it would remain like this forever if the Yakuza duo decided to spread the message that Mizuki was bunking up with Sly blue multiple times a week. Could already picture it falling into disrepair, paint peeling off the walls and tattoo sketches yellowing and fading, dust falling thickly to cover everything, LED signs never illuminated again and nothing left for either of them but each other. Sly had already caused enough trouble, and he supposed he should leave now before the vivid picture his mind painted because reality, but the bartender was under his skin and he had to admit he didn’t quite mind him being there, just for now at least.

But he wouldn’t say any of that, wouldn’t acknowledge that he should back out before it was too late, before he became all Mizuki had, before his entire world began to revolve around him out of nothing but inevitability, because when you had nothing left you’d grab onto anything you could. “Didn’t mention me then?”

“No, why? Did they know I was there with you?” The first hint of alarm had seeped into his voice and Sly hated it as much as he wanted to hear it again, to hear his voice rise in pitch with fear, to see those strong arms shaking and that plump bottom lip trembling as he’d suck it into his mouth anxiously. But he was getting carried away again, and who else would find somebody else’s terror enticing, who would feel their pulse spike as eyes grew wider and he looked so damned desperate, licking at his lips calmly before he responded, trying to calm himself because Mizuki’s honest reaction was so delicious and he was hungry.

“They’re Yakuza, they know everything. They even asked if ‘Mizuki-san’ enjoyed himself.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal, sliding his cigarette box over the sheet to the tattooist, figuring the least he deserved after all the shit Sly put him through was a free smoke, watching intently as he lit and smoke slipped into his eyes, turning watery and blinking too fast. Moisture pooled at the bottom and he had to wipe it away with a low grumble about smoke, Sly just suddenly fascinated to wonder how he would look if he were to cry, sure he could break him to that level easily but not wanting to, not quite yet, tears would inevitably come later and they sure wouldn’t be his. “If they wanted to ruin you they would have done it by now. Anyway, how are they going to get your members back?”

He shrugged, but inside he was surprised Sly hadn’t asked for the details immediately, but then he supposed that would have spoilt his feigned indifference to this whole thing, never one to openly show interest in anything unless it affected him directly, and he supposed this didn’t.

“Said something about merging with their team, I can’t remember the name, Mercury?”

“Morphine,” he answered too fast and too quietly, like he hadn’t meant for it to be heard, nodding slowly and chewing on his lip, cigarette burning down without him noticing, ash smearing onto the sheet and Mizuki growing more unnerved as he seemed to shut himself off completely, cold and calculatingly calm, it was creepy.

“They said I could be the leader, they’re too busy to do it themselves,” it hadn’t sounded like that bad an idea to him, this way he could still be in charge of a Rib team, still be popular and keep his family close to him, in fact this would mean he’d make more friends, build his community into a wider group, that way he’d never be fully abandoned. A little enthusiasm, uncertain and tentative, seeped into his voice and Sly stubbed out his cigarette with such sudden anger his expression faltered as he grabbed his bag from the stool next to him and swung it over his neck.

“Don’t trust them,” but then he’d stood and until then there’d been no signs of him leaving, rapidity of his actions showing he was incredibly displeased with this, because he’d barely had two drinks and they hadn’t so much as made out but already he wanted to get away even without any of the things he went there for. He went to reach for him as he shifted back suddenly, eyes narrowing and Mizuki didn’t know if his next words were related to the fingers on his wrist or the deal he’d been offered, feeling sick suddenly as his breath caught and his hand slipped free, hovering in empty air. “Just _don’t_.”

“Sly, I-“

“Who do you trust more, me or them?” He hadn’t wanted to say that and it was obvious in the harsh scowl on his face, the slightest flash of fear across his face as he realised he didn’t want to hear the answer, as he realised he didn’t know what he wanted the answer to be, swallowing back too much saliva and standing there stubbornly even as Mizuki chuckled and the sound grated on him.

“Well, no offence but I don’t really trust either of you.”

Well fuck this, fuck the bartender and Dry Juice and everything, fuck it all, Sly didn’t care, if he wanted to make a deal with the Yakuza he was old enough and stupid enough to do whatever he thought was best, dull ache in his gut telling himself he was lying even as he pretended not to care. “Do what you want. Just don’t come crying to me when it all goes wrong.”

“Sly, what do you know?” He’d moved then, knocking the paint off the bar as he went to grab for him again, lunging over the wood and catching nothing but a wisp of his scent as he stalked out, slamming the door behind him with no concern for how early in the morning it was. His last, desperate cry of his name seemed completely ignored, catching one last glimpse of blue hair as he crossed the bar faster than he ever had and yanked the door open, not even noticing how the wood had cracked at the bottom. “Sly!”

It was beyond ridiculous to decide not to take them up on their offer based on nothing more but Sly’s reaction to the news, but as he returned to the bar and registered the paint all over the floor he had to admit that despite his words, he trusted Sly a lot more than he’d care to admit, and if he didn’t want him to do it, he wouldn’t.

 

* * *

 

 

He wasn’t entirely sure where the comparison had come from, but tonight he couldn’t help but feel like the moon was almost a tear in the sky, like a fingernail mark in the skin of a soft fruit even though he knew there was no fruit that same color, that could shine so brightly.

He’d always liked this rooftop, it was easy enough to get to for him, but tricky enough that he knew nobody else could ever follow him up here and it had a great view of the island, he could turn in a wide circle and see everything laid out underneath him. He could see the junkyards, and the strip of clubs and cheap bars where Grime was, and Aoyagi Street and the housing district beyond it, and if he looked far enough he could see past Platinum Jail and across to where the land ended and the sea began.

He was sure he’d never seen the sea before, or the ocean or whatever it was, geography had never been his strong point, but this was the closest he was ever planning to get to it, just able to see a vast expanse of black as if the island was floating in nothingness. That was a nice idea, that nothing existed beyond this island, that this was a little bubble he could call his own, that everybody down there would be born here, live here, and die here. If he was a better person he might realize how terribly selfish of him that was, but of course he didn’t, just contemplating the fact that there were places beyond here that he didn’t know, that didn’t know him, wondering for just a second if he’d be happier somewhere else. But no, he’d never be happy anywhere, he knew that, there was a terrible sadness in his bones and he just knew it would never go away, it had been there since he was born, maybe even before then, when he was just a speck in the universe or an idea in the mind of a mother who had abandoned him.

But somewhere else, a new city, a new place, where he could be anybody, he could stay as he was now and make a name for himself somewhere new, or he could change, could try and be a different person, be open and friendly and kind. But his skin shriveled at the thought and he reminded himself once again that it was safer not to change, being himself was safe, the most he’d suffer was a beating, he’d never have to lose somebody again if he had nobody to begin with. Losing people was far more painful than any physical injury he could get, he’d rather have all his teeth knocked out than have to relieve the days after his fake parents left again, that kind of ache didn’t heal the way a cut or scar did, fingers trailing the mark across his stomach lazily.

It was lonely, up here, above all the people, he couldn’t see anyone now in this late night, early morning darkness, but during the day they scurried around like oversized ants, doing whatever it was normal people did with their time, hugging hello and having first kisses and laughing. Not a thought in any of their minds to look up, to see past themselves and their shitty little lives on this island that was going nowhere, that was dying faster than Sly, all of them like little happy clones, worker bees.

He liked the lights best, the moon wasn’t anywhere near full so the island was dim, cast over with clouds and rays of moonlight shading its dirty streets an almost pretty shade of white, a clean color that didn’t suit the filth down there. But the lights twinkled from up here where down below they just flickered over some guys doing a dodgy deal or an underage hooker counting coins desperately, from up here they looked incandescent, new ones flicking on or dying out and drawing his eye. Able to tell the time from them, seeing the red outside of Grime flicker off and knowing it was time for the island to wake up and drunken, stoned revelers to stagger home or fuck in alleys and hope they wouldn’t get caught by somebody who cared enough to do something about it.

The sun was coming up and he already knew what he’d do, what he’d known he’d do since he left the bar, even if he pretended he was up here to debate it, his mind hadn’t so much as wandered to it after the initial thought that it was a terrible idea but that he’d do it for sure anyway. He climbed down easily, fingers slipping just once and the jolt of almost falling just strengthening his resolve, because if he really wanted to repay Mizuki, there were better ways to do it than just through sex, fun though that was, jumping onto the hard streets and cold expression back on.

 

* * *

****

“Oi, biggest fans,” he hated the nickname as much as he could really hate anything, but it gained their attention well enough and they turned to greet him, Trip waving in an uncharacteristically cheery way and Virus seemingly very pleased, nudging his glasses up his nose and lips twisted into a smile he neither trusted nor liked.

“Ah, Sly-san, how are you today?”

“Ya-hoo, Sly.”

“Quit the bullshit, what do you want with Dry Juice?” How he felt wasn’t really of importance at any time, but now especially he didn’t have time for small talk, he’d established his territory, Mizuki and the rest of them were his and he didn’t appreciate their interference.

“Oh? I didn’t think you took an interest in Rib.”

“You know why I’m here, cut the act and tell me what you’re trying to do.”

“We merely made a social call to Mizuki-san, if we had realised you were so attached we would have invited you along, I’m sure you’d be interested in our deal.”

He scowled then, hard, glaring off to the side because this snake, this vile worm of a man knew exactly how to get him to back down, knew how to manipulate and calculate and twist words into such a way that they trapped him. “Like fuck you did, you invited him to join with Morphine, why?”

“We just offered him an opportunity to expand his team into something stronger, Dry Juice is dying and it would be a pity to lose such a proud organisation.” Pride could go fuck itself, this had nothing to do with Dry Juice and everything to do with him and Mizuki and he knew that, had known it from the moment he arrived at Grime and they had asked when his plus one was arriving. Knew he was fucking things up for the bartender even as they cornered him in an alley one day, expressing an odd mixture of spoken displeasure and shown amusement at the state the bartender had left in, remarked that maybe Sly should take better care of his dates. They hadn’t cared when he spat at them, just warned him icily to mind his manners and made his blood run cold and him shut his mouth even as he boiled over with indignation.

“Mizuki-san would be a good asset to Morphine.”

“Would he fuck, I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but Dry Juice is my territory, go fuck with another team.”

“You’re being awfully defensive, Sly. It would be a shame if something were to happen to Mizuki-san or Dry Juice, but we’d like to prevent that, and we’d appreciate your cooperation.”

“Fuck you, I’d rather eat shit than cooperate with you.”

“That could be arranged.”

“Ugh, fuck this.” They’d never really scared him, sure they were intimidating as fuck and usually he wouldn’t even try to mess with them, but he had a good thing going here and they were fucking with it. Stepping close enough to Virus that Trip straightened up in a silent threat; touch Virus, get the shit beaten out of you until you couldn’t walk, just staring straight into unnervingly composed blue eyes and spitting into his face. “He’s _mine,_ stay the fuck away from him.”

He didn’t comment, just removed a neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face off with it, flicking out the creases delicately and placing it back where it belonged serenely, smiling as if none of that had just happened. “Always a pleasure, we are your biggest fans, Sly-san.”

 

* * *

 

 

He wasn’t meant to hate him, he wasn’t stupid enough to imagine that he’d be able to handle fucking somebody he actually detested and who felt the same towards him, but it would make things a damn lot easier, the whole ‘I hate you so much let’s make out a little’, thing. But he didn’t hate Mizuki, and he didn’t dislike him and there was no anger in what they did, or rarely anyway, only if he really worked him up first and made him deliberately annoyed. But those times were rare, because unless Mizuki pissed him off he didn’t really feel a need to aggravate him anymore, he didn’t get a thrill from seeing him snap now, it was a little boring, truth be told, and he was very predictable.

But then maybe it was just a trait of people like the ones in Dry Juice, because that Tio guy had been so incredibly easy to rile up, it was like child’s play to think of what would annoy him the most, the fastest and the most efficiently. Even the punch he’d received had been somewhat rewarding, just knowing he could have some effect on people was encouraging, to know he could ruin somebodies day that fast, with just a little stolen information and a few carefully chosen words.

But while he wasn’t meant to even know the traits of the guy he was fucking, or to hate him, he certainly, definitely wasn’t meant to be starting to like him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character Designs, updates, ficart and other things of interest- [here](http://minky-way.tumblr.com/tagged/intravenous-series)
> 
> Tumblr @ [minky-way](http://minky-way.tumblr.com)
> 
> guess what...  
> it's my birthday (also a small miracle this is up on time wow)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic playlist- [here](http://8tracks.com/minky-way/intruded)

There’s an uncomfortable germ in the air, seeping into his lungs and making the walk through the bar into the streets feel like he’s stepping through thick pus, familiar crushing weight of the silence that has fallen suffocating his lungs and tightening his throat. Hands in fists and the murmuring sounding like raindrops against his ears, drowning him as he steps into the street beyond and the door shuts like the lid of a coffin behind him, swallowing thickly and looking for some familiarity, some comfort. Then he sees a flash of blue too high up and panic sets in, grabbing onto the first person he sees and taking in their pale expression even as they answer his question fast, words tumbling over each other. They all know the pain of this, of not knowing, of finding out too late, guys who have left, abandoned him returned now in the wake of this, in the events that are happening and he can feel his liquid breakfast sloshing in his stomach.

"What happened?”

"There's- Um, a body- I- Someone’s been killed, murdered."

Memories flash through his head, blood and guilt and pain and loss and Yasu and _fuck-_ "One of mine?" For this man is not with him, glances down at his tattoo as if he is not recognisable on sight, eyes narrowing as he understands his actions now, the hard grip on his arm that has not faded, the wide of his eyes and the flare of his nostrils, the erratic twitch of his lip.

"No,” a shaking head and he feels terror leave him at that but still there is an electric pulse shooting through him, almost painful because things were getting bad again and there is an unnatural hush over the whole place even with the nervous, nosy murmurings from all around. “Um, scratch."

He knows it’s terrible to think even as he does it, but his sigh escapes and he can see blue eyes watching, making their way over to him as his shoulders droop again and he is _relieved_ , soft hand on the small of his back and listening quietly as he arrives. "Scratch? When was this?"

"Last night, the Yakuza found his body, up by all the warehouses in the North district."

The Yakuza, yes of course they’d be involved, they were everywhere now, having meetings with him and with Beni-Shigure too if Hitomi’s words were to be trusted, prying their way into everyday life and presence as unwanted as rats. But if they had been there then maybe they had done it, a way to prove their dominance over even the hardened team of criminals, a way to instil fear and respect in the other teams, in everyone around them, in the whole island. Dominating the place as Toue and Platinum Jail had earlier, but Scratch were not so easy to kill and the power of rumour was a strong one in people so bored and disillusioned by life. "Any idea who did it?"

"They saw Sly Blue fleeing the scene, they said his hands were bloody." Blue meets green and he looks away too fast, the other silently saying _I told you so_ and judging, worry and concern swirling in his eyes as much as disapproval and that annoying, irritating sense of righteousness, like he’d known this all along, like he believed it instantly.

“The Yakuza said that?”

“Mm, twins, I think they were. Virus and Trap or something?”

“Trip, and they’re not twins.” He turns away from him then with a nod of gratitude too cold and suddenly, eyes on paler skin and curly hair damp with sweat and the sun beating down to burn his scalp. “Do you believe them?”

That noncommittal shrug that was such a lie, Mizuki knowing what he thought even before he spoke, knowing what the whole crowd thought and suddenly realising that flash of blue from earlier would be the last he’d see of him, probably ever. “I don’t want to, but yeah, a little. I mean, what reason would they have to lie?” What reason indeed? But then in what world were the Yakuza more trustworthy than a mere teenager with an attitude problem who liked to cause fights and get higher than was really advisable? “You can’t try to help him anymore, Mizuki.”

“I know.” But this time he really did, he understood, gesturing with a jerky twitch of his head for him to come inside, pausing in the doorway when a taller form appeared behind them, freckled fingers gripping onto pale to stop him, asking what was going on. Olive eyes stuck on their hands, on the slightly too long hold, noticing Tio not moving away and just going inside quietly, not sure how he felt other than a little disorientated and lost, oddly wishing he could speak to Sly about this whole thing then laughing at the irony of that.

 

But then they were inside, sequestered away from the nervousness on the streets and he had to watch Kin sit too close and see Tio’s nervous expression, answer questions about the Yakuza and pretend everything was fine and he didn’t feel as frightened as a child.

“What did they want, Mizuki? And don’t say it was a social call, I know when you’re lying.”

Wasn’t that a pity? It meant he had to tell him, to explain, to say how he’d have to re-tattoo them all, how Dry Juice would die but Morphine would finally be born, to watch Kin’s eyes narrow and Tio’s widen in surprise that he’d considered it for even a second, that he was still considering it now.

“You hate the Yakuza.”

“But we’re losing members, don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. Kin’s the first new recruit we’ve had in weeks and it looks like he might be the last. Everyone’s going to Rhyme, even the ones still here do it when they leave, I hear them talking about it when they don’t think I can hear. Everybody is going to leave then what will I- What will we do?”

He hadn’t meant to bare his soul, never meant to, not to anybody, but those matching blues on him made him feel sick, like he wanted to hunch into a childish ball and sulk, or maybe to throw caution to the wind and invite the alleged body discoverers in and tell them that yes he’d join and they should tattoo him first. To plant their mark right over his own neck, over his skin, to embed themselves so deep inside that they could never leave, that nobody could ever leave him again, that this thing would be the one that stuck.

 

* * *

 

 

He wasn't at all surprised when Sly disappeared from everybody's radars, he was probably hiding out somewhere until the rumours died down and he wouldn't be beaten to death in the streets for a crime there was no proof he'd even committed. In fact he was almost grateful he hadn’t shown up at his door again because just being seen with him now would be as bad as conspiracy to murder and that was the last thing he needed. So risky too was speaking out on his behalf as much as he wanted to sometimes, because hearing people assuming things and labelling him a killer, calling him cold blooded, made his skin prickle and it was hard to hold it in.

 

But there was something wrong with the whole thing, with the stories knitting together so well, so incredibly smoothly in the way they overlapped and matched that wasn’t right, like the feeling when you accidentally put one extra teaspoon of sugar into your tea, and it's okay at first but then you realize the taste is a little off and you can’t quite work out how or why. It was too perfect, too well thought out and with no doubt whatsoever, like it had been delicately and elaborately crafted, and knowing the Yakuza, and especially _those_ Yakuza, Mizuki would not put it past them to frame Sly for something like this. The question was, why?

 

But what if Sly _wasn’t_ Sly? Well, not quite that, because of course if Sly wasn’t himself then maybe Mizuki wouldn’t be growing quite as addicted to him, but imagine if his reputation was gone, if he was still the same sharp tongued, quick witted asshole but people didn’t hate him. Things would be easier then, he could stroll into the bar, grab a stool and get a drink and Mizuki would be able to smile at him, to laugh as he poured it and to flirt as openly as he wanted, would be able to laugh off the remarks of his team as Sly stayed even as they left and he began to lock up. Would be able to leave his night of drinking and drag him into the back room to kiss him, would be able to grab and kiss him in front of people, taste of vodka on his lips and grinning knowingly at the guys as he dragged him out of the bar and upstairs. Wouldn’t have to hide the marks or lie about them, wouldn’t have to hide anything, the most he’d have to deal with would be dumb questions about if they were dating or not and he’d be able to laugh those off easily enough.

But of course Sly was who he was, and while Mizuki wouldn’t want to change that, he wondered now if maybe he could somehow change it himself, if he could act nicer, or even just be less prominent, maybe if he was less hated they could relax for once, because God knows he was tense now.

 

 

Mizuki just listened, pulling Dry Juice back a little, rounds stopping and almost daily informal gatherings at the bar dwindling until some nights he’d open up and get a whole two customers, even Fridays and Saturdays, previously their busiest nights, slimming out, crowd far smaller and nearly all looking slightly nervous about their decision. Tattoo appointments were being cancelled the day of, which meant he kept their deposits, but in this climate of fear it felt wrong, offering to return them but customers reluctant to even pop in for ten minutes to get money they had every right to.

Then things got crazier, there was some talk of Beni-Shigure going missing, every source Mizuki found horribly trustworthy and his own research finding out the same, that one day they’d been there as always, and the next they had been gone. Somebody had even broken into Koujaku’s apartment to look for clues and had found nothing out of the ordinary, no signs of forced entry prior to their own, no bloodstains or notes of suspicious origin. It was like they’d just been spirited away, rumours going madder, talk of conspiracy theories or that they’d somehow found a way to leave the island and had gotten out while they could, there was some chatter of Toue being involved but he usually left the Old Residents District alone so Mizuki didn’t hold much hope in that.

 

* * *

 

 

It was nothing different to be glared at everywhere he went, he was so used to it by now that if anything changed he’d be immensely confused and wonder just what had happened to shift the atmosphere towards him. But to be stopped on the street by somebody who was a complete stranger to him, who looked too well dressed and intelligent to start a street brawl with him, now that was a surprise.

“Why’d you do it?”

He did lots of things people would have issues with and nobody knew that more than himself, but this guy was really being vague and he didn’t have time for this, he had things to do just like any fucker else, just rolling his eyes and enquiring remarkably calmly as to what he meant. “Do what?”

“You know.”

“I really don’t, asshole, what the fuck do you want?”

“Why’d you kill him? What did he do to you?”

“Kill who?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know, they saw you running away! Did you think you could get away with it?”

“Get away with what?” He was really pissed now, grabbing the guy by his collar so hard his fat face turned pink almost immediately as his shirt strangled him, hissing into his ugly face and almost smelling the despair that came along with a boring office job on his breath. “Who did I fucking kill?”

“That guy from Scratch,” his expression flickered the tiniest amount as the team was mentioned, but as always that was enough to condemn him, man somehow taking this moment to shrug him off, tidying his blazer and shoving his glasses up his nose snootily. “People like you are the reason they should bring back the death penalty.”

He’d been told he deserved to die before, so it didn’t really bother him that this stranger thought so too, in fact he’d often considered it himself so no words anybody could fling at him would make him feel bad.

“Hm, maybe. Would you be the one to do it? To fire a bullet into my pretty little brains? Or would you rather slit my throat? I really don’t mind as long as it’s quick so I don’t have to see your ugly face for longer than I have to.” He paused then, remembering the knife he always kept in his back pocket and sliding it out, holding it by the blade and offering the handle to the man, cold metal slicing into his palm and blood beading onto the steel. “Want to do it now?”

The man stared at him for a moment, regarding the weapon as if he expected it to be turned on him, self-righteous expression failing and dying as he watched his face stay steady and unafraid, urging him to take the knife, to plunge it into his chest or slit his throat, encouraging his own death without blinking.

“Or maybe you don’t want to get your hands dirty? Be a shame to ruin that suit after all,” he just shrugged, blade gleaming in the dazzling sunlight and the other backing away into a wall, fixing his glasses again with one fat hand and swallowing thickly. “Hmm, I suppose you could watch me do it.”

Against his neck now, metal warm where his hand had touched it and leaving a sticky red line in its wake, bloodied hand dripping to the floor and trickling down his sleeve, fear growing in the strangers eyes, this man who had wished him dead but would never be brave enough to do it. He paused then, pressing the blade in, testing it’s strength, how sharp it was, feeling it slice into his flesh with the too-familiar sting, waiting for the man to stop him, knowing he would.

“You like that? Want me to slit my throat right here? You’d be a hero, the man who finally got rid of Sly Blue, don’t you want that? Hm? I thought you wanted me dead? Say the word and I will be.

“What’s wrong with you?” His voice was oddly steady, not shaking with fear or trembling with anger as he taunted him so obviously, laid his life on the line like he didn’t care at all which was at least half true.

He just shrugged, knife bobbing with his words and removing it a little, still touching his neck and just agitating the thin cut he had made, wondering how deep it really was and knowing it wasn’t enough to do any lasting damage, just another mark on his ruined skin. “Lots of things probably.” He didn’t exactly have the funds to go see a psychiatrist or whatever the fuck they were, let alone the meds he’d presumably need because he was well aware there were a few things seriously fucked up in his head. “So do you want me dead or not?”

The man hesitated for a second, then straightened up, standing tall and proud, looking a little ruffled admittedly but not as much as he’d like and really, what a disappointment he’d proved to be, “fine, maybe I don’t. But can’t you just be normal?”

He didn’t have a witty response to that, no snarky comeback or harsh jab, he just didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t speak and the man left silently, leaving him stood there, staring at the knife in his hand and wondering just what it meant to be normal and if he’d ever get there.

 

He wasn’t stupid enough to imagine he was anything but utterly hated, but to be accused of murder? To have people believe it? That was a new low and he wasn’t entirely sure he should be as amused and almost proud as he was, it was funny, really it was, that the islands level of dislike for him had reached this level. It was horribly impressive, how fast he’d gotten here, and from where, from that little boy who’d cried on his Grandmas lap over every little thing, to this person he was now, like he’d broken free from his chrysalis only to find he had torn up wings.

 

* * *

 

 

He knew what they were doing, he knew the Yakuza’s plans had changed, he’d been observing them, more out of personal curiosity than anything else, from high up atop his roof perches where he knew they wouldn’t see him and nobody else would either. It didn’t hurt to be too cautious these days with the rumours flying round like some infectious disease, intruding on even those who didn’t want to hear. So he perched there with his hood pulled low over his face and his hair tucked away safely in a ponytail secured with an elastic band that made strands tear out painfully at night when he released it to rub his aching scalp.

He knew what they were doing, creeping around in new territory, ignoring Dry Juice now except to share syrupy false familiarities with them, to engage in small talk with awkward looking members who’d just wanted to practice sparring, have a bit of fun. They left an atmosphere behind them like a hospital ward, nobody wanted to speak, nobody could speak a lot of the time, they just stared after them and closed ranks, suspicious and scared suddenly as if they’d been given horrible news.

They’d always smelt too clean to Sly, like antiseptic or strong bleach, like they scrubbed themselves raw every morning in a futile attempt to keep the grime of these streets off them, it was unnatural, but so was everything about them. They always looked perfect, pristine, like machines, their suits neatly pressed and that pocket handkerchief always starched crisply and at the exact same angle, like a white flag of surrender they would never wave. Their faces freaked him out the most though, did the same for everybody who saw them close up, those icy blue eyes that stared too deeply and didn’t blink quite enough, those lips stretched thin into false smiles and the pale perfection of their skin, like marble or alabaster.

But there they were, spreading their numbing cream across the island, everywhere at once but always together, never appearing from any specific location no matter how much Sly tried to follow them back each night, they seemed to disappear before he had any clue. So where they lived or whatever, he didn’t know, but he increasingly got his first sight of them outside the home of Beni-Shigure, Virus once helping up a women who had fallen and presumably laying on the charm thickly as she just smiled and thanked him. But then maybe those women who flocked round their leader, a fucking hairdresser no less, were so empty headed that they couldn’t detect the scent of pure evil even when it was right in front of them.

So it was no surprise to him when a few days later he saw them talking with the hairdresser himself, when the red dressed man invited them into his home like he was a complete moron, like he hadn’t have enough run-ins with people like them himself before. When they emerged again they shook his hand and Sly knew it was too late, but most of all he didn’t care, he had no connection to this man, to Beni-Shigure, wasn’t even sure of the leaders name. So he felt no guilt at leaving him to whatever they had planned, if anything he was ready to watch with a sick sort of fascination as the team fell, as their undefeated leader crumbled and faded into dust.

Mizuki was safe, Dry Juice was safe, and that was all he really cared about, he would not have his fun interrupted by two Yakuza with secret plans and snake eyes, he refused to lose the one thing he had that made life even remotely bearable. So he just kept his lookout from a distance, watched, and waited for the second strongest team to fade away or turn into something they’d never been, or maybe, just maybe, for the not-twins offer to actually be true, but he didn’t believe that for a second.

 

But still, he had things he needed to do, places he need to be and after observing for a little while he grew tired of watching the hairdresser flirt and sneak girls out of his place as if nobody knew what a whore he was. It was amusing really, how everybody kept things like that hidden when to somebody like Sly it meant nothing, so whenever Mizuki remarked that he shouldn’t leave in daylight, all he ever wanted to do was exactly that. He didn’t much see why people would be ashamed of it, or embarrassed, why would you deny you wanted something that felt so good, that made you feel alive even if just for a fleeting moment?

But then there was lots he didn’t understand about other people, like how trust worked and how it could be shattered so easily, how people could be tricked and fooled into believing one thing by the words of another who might not know a single thing. That was why he never placed his faith in anybody but himself, and even that was wavering and never stationary, people let you down and that was obvious, he’d felt it enough himself to know the pain of loss, of having something then it being torn away and leaving you with a hole.

Just the idea that he might ever experience it again made him feel a little bad for Koujaku, for he’d learned his name eventually, having to get far too close to hear one of his gross little fan-girls squeal it in his direction. But then it was his own fault for being stupid, for not befriending the right people, for being morally upstanding in all areas and for being a strong pillar of the community who would never doubt anybody had bad intentions, even the Yakuza.

But then maybe he hadn’t agreed and Sly was reading too much into it, but either way he knew Virus and Trip had turned their sight away from Mizuki and that was all he really cared about, as long as Mizuki and Dry Juice could remain, he could stay where he was, balancing on that delicate wire and ignoring the temptation to fall into the abyss underneath him.

 

* * *

 

 

The moments memories decided to resurface were always strange, because he’d walked past this house hundreds of times, had climbed up it, had taunted Mizuki from it’s second storey roof and then scrambled away. But the memory screamed into his mind and he stopped in his tracks, remembering when it hadn’t been a house, remembered the scent of flowers drifting downstairs from the florist above, remembered pink locks tumbling to the ground. He could remember himself picking them up with no care for how stupid he looked, grinning as he gathered them up and saying they were too pretty to waste even though he always left them behind in the end. Could remember her smile, back in the days when he didn’t have to remember and all he had to do was go downstairs and it would be reflected on him, remembered holding her hand on the way back and telling her she was beautiful.

Remembered a stronger, rougher hand holding the other side, collar of his shirt dusted with brown snippings, getting home and deliberately shaking his head so they tumbled over him and he squealed as he tried to escape.

They had deserved their titles back then, he had called them fondly and had truly believed it, adoption or not, but it was pretence and the man he called his father was not his father and nor was his mother that which he called her. His Grandma was not even his own, a long line of adoption and abandonment and him at the end, ending the habit because who would ever let him take care of a child when he couldn’t take care of himself?

But that wasn’t his point, his point was the agony in his chest when he saw the flicker of his happier past, when he’d been shrouded in lies but had been so happy to be there, tucked between his fucked up family, to be the normal one. He could remember his mother’s perfume now, it seemed to invade his nose until she could almost be there and he was half tempted to turn and check.

She had always loved him, so much, her and her partner, they had doted on him, picked him up from the beach and made him their own and never looked back. But it was all pretence, they didn’t look back when they left either, they never loved him, they were pretending as much as Mizuki was now.

But if anything stopped him in his tracks it was that, because Mizuki had never made any mention of love before yet there it was swimming through his head as if it was a solid fact, the word so heavy when he thought about it yet he’d just summoned it so easily. He was in too deep, he knew that, abandoned by everybody who ever cared about him, his birth parents hadn’t even kept him long enough to name him, his adoptive parents tricked him and then left him the moment it was convenient for them. Even his Grandma was leaving him behind now, and while he couldn’t blame her it still hurt, Mizuki was all he had left and that was such a dark thought the smell of perfume died and turned into something rotten and foul. But even Mizuki didn’t want him, would grow tired of picking him up and dusting him off only for him to get into trouble again, it was only a matter of time and he’d be all alone. He wondered if he’d like it this time, the solitude, he’d always liked his own company after all, but the company of the bartender? It was tempting, and he’d never been good at refusing himself anything he wanted.

 

* * *

 

 

He didn’t do anything when he arrived at the door, didn’t question why he was finally back now or what had been going on, just lingered in his apartment with Sly outside, divided by an invisible line he wouldn’t cross. “You’ve been busy lately, huh?”

"Oh great, you too? Let me guess, I'm a murderer, I'm disgusting, I'm never to come back?"

"Actually I don't believe you did it,” calm, controlled and held in, just regarding him with a neutral expression as he laughed breathily, turning his head to the side and biting at his bottom lip thoughtfully.

"Hm, makes a nice change, every other fucker on this island does.”

“Well they don’t know you,” he turned then, heading inside and the invitation to follow was silent but it may as well have been screamed, sitting back at his dining table as he must have been, arranging messy papers into a neat stack and securing it with a paperclip. Sliding them into a labelled cardboard folder and placing them in one of the two unoccupied chairs, Sly not answering until he’d lit up a cigarette, exhaling smoke along with his words.

 “And you do?” It was meant to be challenging but it just wasn’t, nothing they were saying was and it was putting him completely out of his depth because nobody was challenging him anymore and he didn’t know if it was because they were scared of him or because of something else entirely.

“Better than them.”  
“Well that’s not difficult. So you don’t think it was me?” He just shook his head and Sly nodded slowly, playing with a piece of tobacco that had fallen out of his cigarette. “So what if I told you I did do it?”

“I’d ask why.”

“You think I’d need a reason?”

“Not if it was Scratch.”

His gaze flickered because they both knew the reaction Scratch had in him, had for so long now and seemingly always would, the tremor of his lip and the way his shell seemed to crack for the merest second before he laughed dryly. “Heh, you’re a sadistic bastard.”

“I have a question.”

“Careful now, remember I’m a killer.”

He just rolled his eyes at that, because a little shit he might be, and nobody would deny that, but to call him a murderer was a step too far and Mizuki knew he was joking, laughing even as it wasn’t funny and the humour didn’t reach either set of eyes. “Is your life ever not a complete and utter mess?”

“Sometimes, it’s rare.” He laughed then, warm and genuine and Sly relaxed into his seat, pulling up one foot to rest on the edge and balancing his chin on his knee, eyes focused on Mizuki, the streak of ink across his fingers, the mark on his shirt that could be toothpaste, the lock of hair that was stuck out at an odd angle, noticing things he shouldn’t be.

“So why’d you leave? Scared I’d believe it?”

“Well I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation bartender.”

But maybe he was wrong, maybe the real question had never been why he left, but why he came back. Why he always came back. “Okay, so why’d you come back?”

“You-“ But he paused then and he never normally did that, biting at his lip slowly and considering his words carefully before throwing caution to the winds and being honest, feeling regret wash over him instantly, hot and thick. “You make me feel like I’m not a bad person.”

And it was true, but then just the fact that Mizuki made him _feel_ was enough, that when he was around him he felt a little more alive than usual, like the air going into his lungs was realer and the drink that burned his throat was more vivid and colourful. He made him feel, and now he had he couldn’t stand to leave.

“Because you’re not, want a drink?” How he did that was amazing, saying something like that then making it seem so insignificant with another question, a casual remark that anybody might make, diluting and muffling his words until it felt almost like he wouldn’t drown.

“Sure.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So, if you didn’t kill him, who did? The Yakuza?”

“Oh, he’s smarter than he looks.” There was too much vodka in his glass and it scalded where he swallowed, cleaning out his clogged throat and making his head light already **.** “But yeah, almost definitely. They set me up, they know it’s because of me that you didn’t agree to join Morphine so they wanted to punish me, guess setting me up as a murderer was a good idea, nice and believable.”

“But why wouldn’t they do something to me?”

“You think they didn’t think of that? They know we’re fucking, they know more than they should.” He shrugged as if the very idea of punishing Sly hurting Mizuki wasn’t something that made him feel strange, continuing as if nothing had happened, the way he always did when things got difficult or emotions got involved. “Turning you against me works in their favour too. You think I’m a killer, I go back to them for money and whatever and you realise you don’t trust me and join them after all. They’re sneaky little bastards, Mizuki.”

Something about saying his name seemed weird, like he’d never done it before even though he must have done, even though he knew he had when they’d fucked at least, but like this, in that tone, like he was trying to instil familiarity, trust in him, that was new and his next sentence made his blood run cold.

“So they were going to punish me by… Taking you away, essentially.”

“Basically, guess they think they know something we don’t.”

“Like what?”

“Hm, well sounds to me like they think there’s something more than fucking going on. I mean really, you could find somebody else to fuck in a couple days, you wouldn’t miss me. I don’t know what they’re thinking but they’ve got it all wrong.”

“Mm,” he just nodded and they went quiet for a while because he hadn’t laughed off the idea there was more going on but then Sly felt like he wouldn’t be able to either, if there wasn’t he would never have gone against the Yakuza, wouldn’t have tried to protect him, but he was good at hiding things so he shoved that thought to the back of his head and waited for the other to speak instead.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, you staying?” He spoke slowly, carefully, like had had the first time they’d met, when he hadn’t known him yet and he’d just been a stranger, mind flying back to that day, to collarbones and runny egg yolks and hangovers. It was a scene that had replayed over and over both in his mind and in life, some factors changing each time but the routine staying the same, the collarbones where he went hungry and the hangovers where he woke with a throbbing neck and bruises caused not by love nor hate but by something entirely other.

But Sly felt none of the poetry, just nodding, and shrugging as he always had, as he always would and Mizuki was suddenly struck with the fear that things would forever be like this, stable and steady but never moving, stagnant like still water and twice as uncomfortable. The air that surrounded them almost choked him as the excuse fluttered free and they both pretended they didn’t notice the untruth in his eyes and the exhaustion in both their world weary bones, wandering for too long and needing rest neither could accept from the other. “Mm, there’s people watching my warehouse, all over the place. I can’t go back yet.”

“Okay. I don’t mind. You know that. You’re welcome whenever.” Something had changed, he couldn’t voice his thoughts even as they swirled around, they distorted and shattered into broken chunks that he spat out like picking words from the dictionary at random, praying they worked together. It was the unsaid that mattered now, the gaps in between where words he feared to speak lay dormant but all too ready to awaken and stretch into life, to fill up the empty, sad space in his head.

“Yeah. I know.” Cold. But thawing a little, like chicken left on the side, dripping into a puddle and so much easier to destroy, to burn up to a crisp and to hammer flat until almost nothing was left, to mould the way you wanted, to consume completely and voraciously. “But, I’m tired, so I’ll fuck you tomorrow or something.”

“Sure, but, what are you doing?”

“Crashing on your couch.” Indignation, mocking, irritation.

“At least take the bed.”

“Where are you gunna sleep?”

“I’ll come in later, I’ve got some stuff to do.”

He stared and the yellow was acrid, holding his gaze like one might hold a lover late at night, distant but somehow so close Mizuki could almost reach out and touch his solid line of sight, unwavering as he nodded and left the room steadily, humming approval or dismissal as either was likely. “Mm.”

 

* * *

 

 

He waited too late to join him as always, having completed the bars accounts remarkably quickly and then realizing he had nothing to do but think, and didn’t that just kill him these days? Sly’s still unanswered question buzzing around his head like a particularly tenacious bee, invading everything until he realized he wasn’t taking in any of the news scrolling along the screen, weather report starting and ending before he registered it.

‘What if I told you I did?’

‘I’d ask why.’

It was the truth, of course he’d ask why, because nobody could murder so cold heartedly they wouldn’t have at least a small reason, Sly especially wouldn’t do that without being really driven to it, despite the general consensus on the island. But then what if he’d gotten a reason, what if it had been because of what Scratch did to him, what if it had been revenge against them, against the very man who might have grabbed him, violated him, first? He really didn’t know what he would have done, but he was a little afraid he wouldn’t have even kicked him out, might have just nodded slowly, asked if it had been worth it, or changed the subject awkwardly.

Would he have tried to offer him comfort, or would he have kissed him and taken him to bed like always, would he have offered him a hot shower and some food and the company of a friend? He didn’t know, he just knew he was in too deep again, knowing if he woke tomorrow to a mob outside his house it would be nobody’s fault but his own for fraternizing with the enemy for so long when he knew the dangers.

 

* * *

 

 

He lingered in the doorway, watching him sleep, face illuminated by the strip of cruel yellow light from the chink in the door, bright of the hallway spilling into the room and throwing harsh shade onto his face. Peaceful as always in sleep but still frowning, eyebrows the littlest bit furrowed but body losing all of its conscious tension, defenses down, and perhaps this was always how it was, in his warehouse or wherever else he lay his head, but something in him knew that was not the case. He knew it was special, he was special, his place was, he was special to Sly even if he’d never dare suggest it or even admit it, something in the air crackling between them was special, a little precious maybe, and he knew it died the second Sly set a single foot out of the door.

He was pretty when he slept, but then he was pretty anyway so that shouldn’t be a surprise, a little skinnier since he last saw him, but then that always seemed to be the case, like he was fading away and one day would be gone altogether like a balloon caught in a warm current of air and swept out to sea. His clothes were strewn across the floor and when that had become familiar he wasn’t too sure but his own joined them soon, mingling together like they belonged even as he slid into sheets that soothed his skin and tore Sly’s open every time he came near, lay there innocently and so soft in sleep.

He wasn’t sure when he’d realized he was lonely, but lying in bed now with somebody else who wasn’t his and never would be suddenly made it hit home and the empty space in his chest wanted to be filled so badly he knew he’d do anything to fix it, to fix himself. Everything hit at once, that he had missed Sly, that he’d been so lonely this whole time, that he always was even before Sly and as far back as he could remember, that he was missing something to complete him and as much as he tried he couldn’t find it.

He’d always made stupid decisions when he was lonely and involving other people in them was common, that was what had happened with him and Tio after all, he’d been lonely and they’d done something stupid and fucked things up. But he and Sly were always doing stupid things and they had nothing much to mess up so he figured he didn’t much care as he regarded the slim planes of his back, tracing slow fingers up his spine without many thoughts in his head other than that he was warm.

He woke the second he dared squirm closer, one arm creeping onto his side and trying to pretend it was an accident even as all his tension screamed back into him and he was hard as diamonds, twice as beautiful and with far more blood spilled for him. It was silent for one perfect, exquisitely agonizing second, then the focus of his wild erratic thoughts breathed and his eyes were filled with razor shards he didn’t have the strength to even shield them from. But he didn’t turn instantly, just shifted a little, as if feeling out the hand on his skin and trying to figure out what it was doing there, how it made him feel, expression hidden from him as it would have been even if their eyes could meet.

He rolled over then, lemon eyes but twice as sour meeting his, oddly expressionless in the dim light and sliding almost shut to look down and regard the hand that had slid onto his concave stomach with the movement, tilting his head to examine the warmth that rested there, nestled between his sharp hips. But then he shifted his fingers a little and there was heat rising in his gut that wasn’t quite as nice as it usually was, a little like battery acid dripping slowly onto his flesh and melting through him, waiting for it all to be over and shoving away the thought that Sly might just accept it and go back to sleep.

He licked his lips before he spoke and their plump, glistening surface distracted him so much he almost didn’t think of an excuse in time, brain working overtime as his fingertips tingled and his body pressed into Sly’s innocently for the first time. “Do I dare ask why you’re trying to… _cuddle_ me?”

“It’s cold.”

“ _I’m_ not cold.”

“Are we talking about temperature or personality here?”

He’d expected him to be amused by that but he wasn’t, because he’d meant the room was cold, which was a lie, but Sly was cold too and sometimes he’d forget that warmth of skin was not the same as of character, “I will kick you right in your scabby little dick.”

Scabby was not a word he’d ever associated with his dick, or any other part of him for that matter, so he was actually a little insulted by that, if not slightly more perplexed at what an odd choice of adjective it had been. “Rude,” was all he managed to mumble, letting him squirm away across the bed as he’d anticipated, wondering to himself exactly what the aim of this little test had been, because it had of course ended exactly how he’d expected it, the sheer apathy towards him not even bothering him.

He supposed apathy was better than nothing, better Sly just felt nothing for him than felt disgust or distain, he prided himself on being well regarded and having a rivalry with Sly would do nothing but cause problems and he already had enough of those. Still, better to allow the lion to sleep in the den than to try and get closer, thinking that he should maybe start viewing Sly as a little more like the big cat, dangerous when it wanted to be but kinda cute from a safe distance. The claws were similar too, hand drifting to his own arm in lieu of somebody else’s and feeling along where he had scraped once, leaving crescent shaped fingernail marks and red scratches like the burst vessels in his sleep withdrawn eyes.

“I-“ He hadn’t meant to speak, rolling to lie on his back and staring up at his ceiling which suddenly seemed unfamiliar, loneliness washing over him and making him feel stupid and small and sad, strange really, how he was unable to admit how he felt to anybody but Sly. “I’m lonely.”

There was silence for a moment and his chest ached because of course he would be ignored, then there was the quiet rustle of sheets and he didn’t need to look to know Sly’s expression, guarded but strangely curious, flitting over his face and eyebrows furrowing and twitching. He seemed to be considering this notion, of loneliness, maybe associating with it himself but then maybe utterly concerned as to how he could be lonely when he was right there, when he had company and somebody to share space with even if just for one night.

“Hm, you wanna fuck?”

It hadn’t been what he expected but he laughed anyway, a bark of laughter rather like a dog, making him think absently of the allmate he’d spied in Sly’s bag, tucked away in sleep mode and carefully nestled in a pile of clothes that had once been the bartenders own. The humor died quickly though, turning his head, pillowed on his arms, to regard Sly, the softer smile and sleepy lilt to his badly concealed yawn making him look almost utterly innocent. If he pretended he didn’t know him and he was just a random teenager he might think he was beautiful, might feel painfully affectionate towards him, but then he remembered everything and saw the bags under his eyes and the cut on his wrist as he turned and his smile faded.

“I don’t think that’ll help.”

He rolled his eyes as if he was being exasperating, turning away again but somehow ending up a little closer to him, lying on his side and near enough that he could feel waves of heat coming off his skin as he spoke quietly, “go to sleep, Mizuki. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

That sounded like a promise but he wasn’t quite stupid enough to ask, just sighing quietly and nodding to himself, closing his eyes and drifting off to the sound of somebody else breathing, feeling that hole begin to patch itself up a little, ignoring what that could mean for now.

After all, they were both good at hiding things that scared them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character Designs, updates, ficart and other things of interest- [here](http://minky-way.tumblr.com/tagged/intravenous-series)
> 
> Okay guys that was the last part in this installment of the series, the next will be titled 'Infected' and I'm not sure when it will be up but keep an eye out for it!  
> I hope you all enjoyed it and thank you for all your comments and kudos :3  
> Alice out ✌️


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